The Demon Drink
by lordtrayus
Summary: Sam is brutally attacked by an unknown assailant outside his motel room. When Dean finds out he is furious and vows to do anything he can to find the culprit, be they hunter, demon or leviathan. Who has done such a thing, and what will Dean do when he finds the identity of the attacker? Set after 7x10 Death's Door, and cameos from John, Mary, Ellen, Bobby, Rufus and Jo!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural (to my ever lasting regret)**

The Demon Drink

The first punch caught him by surprise. By the time he knew what had happened, Sam was already on the floor, the angry imprint of his assailant's fist making his eye throb. He looked up angrily, demanding an explanation from his attacker, but then he received a foot in the gut. Sam wheezed as he was knocked onto his back, but the next thing he knew his attacker was on him, his fist smacking into his nose, sending blood pouring down his face. The brutal attack continued, another fist slamming into Sam's temple. Sam managed to jerk his attacker off and he staggered to his feet, making for the door to their room, but his attacker was on him again, kicking him in the stomach once more. Sam thudded to the ground, groaning in pain, his left eye swelling, his nose pouring blood, and still the attack continued.

"No, don't..." Sam pleaded.

But the attacker didn't listen. His foot repeatedly kicked Sam in the chest, and he could hear his ribs splinter from the assault, the horrible cracking sound filling the deserted car park they were in. Sam rolled away from the attack, clutching himself in pain, but the next attack came to the head, a forceful blow with the foot that made Sam cry out in pain. Seeing stars, he tried to make for the door, but the heavy weight of his assailant came down on top of him, and a rhythmic punching began. Not since Dean had found out that he was soulless had he been subjected to such a brutal assault. His attacker lifted up the front of his shirt, and holding Sam's head in place, he continued his relentless assault, slamming his fist into his mouth, nose and eyes over and over again, while Sam moaned in pain. What had he done to deserve this? He could see Lucifer standing behind his attacker, laughing his head off at the attack and Sam knew that if he survived this he would be even worse to deal with than usual. The attack continued, and pinned as his arms were beneath his attackers knees, there was nothing he could do to try and alleviate the attack in any way.

"Stop!" Sam pleaded, and the attacker seemed to hesitate, and Sam then jerked his lower body, unbalancing the man attacking him.

Sam tried to edge away from him, his ribs lancing with pain, his face bloodied, beaten mess, fighting down the urge to be sick as he tried as hard as he could to get away from his attacker. His long hair was matted with blood, his ribs were either cracked or broken, a sharp stabbing pain coming from each of them, his head was spinning, his eyes unfocused, blood pouring from his nose, mouth and cuts all along his face. He tried to back away but the attacker was once again on him, his foot once more colliding with Sam's head just as Sam tried to pick himself up. He crashed down into the gravel, scraping his hands and knees, and then he felt the foot on the back of his skull, forcing it into the granite. Sam cried out with pain and rolled over, trying to get down the small set of stairs to see if that offered any respite.,

No such luck.

The man kicked him in the stomach once more, making Sam cough up congealed blood, and with the momentum of the kick he rolled down the stairs, his gigantic body bouncing down each concrete step, adding more bruises and cuts to his increasing supply. He whimpered as he reached the bottom step, his entire body alive with pain, blood filling his mouth. He tried to push himself up with his wrists but it was clear from the lancing pain in his wrist that it was also broken. He looked up at his attacker, terrified.

"Don't, stop, don't do this!" he pleaded, and the attacker veered down, his breath stinking of booze as he pressed his face towards Sam's.

"Whiny little bitch." He growled, and Sam cowered, prepared for another hit, but that wasn't what came next.

Suddenly a hard pair of hands wrapped around Sam's neck. Sam looked at his assailant in surprised terror, as he felt the grip start to tighten around his neck. Sam tried to raise his hand to pull the attacker off, but the sharp pain in his right wrist meant that he could only use one hand, and the attacker was too strong for him in his weakened state. Sam could feel the tightening grip on his neck, and it was getting harder to breathe, air was harder to come by. Sam gagged desperately, clawing at the attacking hand desperately to try and pull it off, but it was to no avail. Sam could hear the blood pounding in his head, his airway constricted by the attacker's strong, unmoving fingers. Sam was kicking his legs now, desperately trying to knock his assailant off the top of him, but it wasn't working, all he was doing was thrashing his legs around, further weakening him. He continually clawed at his attacker's hands with his good arm, but it was no good, the beating had taken it out of him, and he couldn't muster enough strength. His strong neck was being collapsed under the vice like grip, and he was beginning to wheeze as he gagged for air, giving desperate shuddering breaths. His face was turning red from the lack of air, his eyes were wide and bulging, and his mind started to prattle in the back of his head: _you're about to die_.

Sam's eyes began to roll in his head, and he knew he was losing this struggle to stay conscious, probably losing the struggle to stay alive as well. He was desperately trying to breathe in, his legs still thrashing beneath the assailant, urgent gargling noises coming from his mouth as he tried once more to free himself.

"I hate you! You should have just left...me...alone!" the attacker yelled, forcing himself down on Sam's neck once again.

Sam gurgled, his last ditch attempt at getting any air into his beaten body, but it was too late. His eyes rolled back in his head as he lost the struggle. His legs came to a stop, twitching slightly as they relaxed. His hand fell from the area of his neck, sprawling out beside him. His face was a deep colour of red, his mouth wide open in a desperate attempt to suck in some air. His tongue was swollen in his mouth, sticking out above his bottom lip it had gotten so large. And with a final shuddering gasp, his eyes rolled completely back in his head, and he was lost to the blackness. And as that happened, his mind was thinking only one thing.

_Dean..._

**Hello to you all!**

**I'm already going mad from the distinct lack of Supernatural so I decided to have a go at Supernatural fanfiction, and this is my first such story!**

**Poor Sammy (he's my favourite out of the two, just saying). Who is responsible for such a brutal attack on him? Will he survive the assault? And more importantly, how will Dean react when he finds out what's happened to his baby brother?**

**I know this chapter isnt very long, but I'm just testing the water here, so please tell me what you think, read and review, and I will hopefully update soon!**

**P.S This story is set not long after Bobby was shot in 7.10 Death's Door. Enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural (but I wish I did)**

The Demon Drink

Dean awoke, his head pounding. How much had he drunk last night? He felt like he had consumed the brewery, the distillery and the vineyard just for good measure. His mouth felt horrible and furry, like he had eaten a live squirrel. His head was thumping loudly in his head, and his muscles were all cramped up. And there was also the not quite so unnoticeable pain in his stomach that indicated that he and his old friend the lavatory would be getting better acquainted this morning. He slowly opened his eyes, and immediately regretted it, the sunlight streaming into the room feeling like it had melted his corneas. He closed his eyes, but knew he had to move soon, because if he threw up on the bed, firstly the motel would charge them extra and secondly Sam wouldn't go anywhere, do anything or even talk to him until he had brushed his teeth at least a dozen times and cleaned up the mess himself and only once he had sprayed enough air freshener that could make the motel blow up like the Death Star if someone lit a match did he consent to be his brother again.

Dean rolled off the bed, gasping in pain as he landed on his hands and knees, before he crawled through to the bathroom, eyes still closed. Hang on, he had woken up on the bed closest to the bathroom. Why was that? Even when he had been out drinking, he always insisted Sam have the bed furthest away from the door, so he could be better protected. After all, the one time Sam had been closest to the door, they'd both been murdered by other hunters, and along with that, he'd seen Fellowship of the Ring, he knew what could happen. Resolving to ponder that at a later date, he finally made it to the toilet just in time.

Ten minutes later, his eyes streaming, his throat burning, his head still pounding and the muscle pains in his mouth and jaw all killing him in their own individually torturous ways, he finally slouched over to the shower, stripped off his clothes, eyes still closed, sat on the edge of the bath, and climbed in. A minute later, hot water was pouring down onto his body, and he finally felt himself waking up. His head was still pounding, his muscles still sore, but he was feeling better, he no longer felt grimy or that he was going to be sick, so he supposed that was progress of some sort. He then became aware of his own body as he could finally open his eyes without feeling like a hot poker was behind them.

There were cuts on his knuckles, a relic from a recent hunt, just like the slight limp he still had, and the cut on his forehead, along with the bruised thumb and grinding knee. Funny though that they all still hurt like hell when his head felt like it was in its death throes. Shrugging it off, he continued to let the water clean away the griminess, the smell of alcohol and the pain in his muscles and head. After a while in the shower, his muscles started to relax and he took himself through to the main room. Throwing on his clothes, he looked at himself in the mirror. Figuring he looked mostly human again, he quickly used his gel to style his hair before turning his attention to the problem that had been vexing him since he woke up.

Where the hell was Sam?

Fair enough, Dean had been comatose with a drink induced sleep. But usually Sam was at least in the same room as him. While he may have reeked of booze, it was only really the smell of sick that bothered Sam and could have made him leave. Dean quickly took a peek outside into the bright sunny world, and immediately regretted it. After reassuring himself that he wasn't blind, he checked again, and could see no sign of his lanky baby brother in their tinpot car of the week. Considering Sam had 'borrowed' a Ford Anglia, claiming that it was vintage, Dean had resolved never to let him get them a car again. Mind you it was still a good little runner, not quite as fast as his beloved Impala, but still quite good. The fact that it was a light blue colour had led to Dean teasing Sam mercilessly, calling him Hermione, but Sam, quite patiently, had then explained that Hermione hadn't actually been in the car, it was only Harry and Ron, and scuppered by his little brother's superior knowledge of Harry Potter, he had had to admit defeat. Maybe one time when Sam wasn't looking, he might swipe the first book from his bag and read it himself. After all, who carried around all seven books in their duffel?

Musing on Harry Potter wasn't helping him find Sam though. Reaching across his bed, he picked up his phone, which he had somehow managed to get out of his pocket last night, quite miraculously in his opinion, he phoned Sam.

As the phone rang, it struck Dean once more just how alone they were, to the extent that Sam was really the only person they could now phone, aside from a few other friends, but no one as close to them as their losses had been. Their mother had died when Sammy had been just six months old. Their father had died several years ago, the victim of a crossroads deal with the yellow-eyed demon Azazel. While they had both died, and come back in the intervening time, some of their losses had been considerably less permanent. Ellen and Jo, two hunters who the boys had come to view as a sort of family, with Ellen acting as a sort of surrogate mother, and Jo a sassy little sister, depending on where he and her stood at the time, had been lost to hellhounds once the Apocalypse had started. Rufus, the irascible old hunter they had come to know through Bobby, had been killed by the newest creation of the monster Eve. Most recently had been two even more painful losses. Their angel friend Castiel, determined to stop the remaining Archangel up in heaven, Raphael, had consumed thousands of souls from Purgatory with the king of Hell, Crowley's help. He had unwittingly absorbed monsters known as Leviathans, and having such power inside him had destroyed him.

But the most recent and devastating loss had been Bobby. Shot in the head by the leader of the Leviathans, Dick Roman, he had lost the struggle to live, and Sam and Dean had lost their closest friend and father figure, someone who a lot of the time had treated them more like his own kids than their own father ever had.

And now Sam wasn't answering, and Dean began to fear that Sam had vanished.

With Sam battling images of Lucifer twenty four seven, he was perpetually worried about his baby brother. Had he cracked and gone off somewhere? Had he found a hunt and gone off to deal with it himself? No, it wouldn't be that, Dean had hit him last time, after cutting off the cast on his broken leg, and typically, Sam had been more concerned about Dean's leg than he had about his brother hitting him, fussing over him once he arrived. Had he gone for food, to the library? No, he would have left a note. Frowning, a sliver of worry in his chest, Dean collected his gun, wallet and phone, and with a deep breath, ventured outside into sunlit carpark.

"Ah, son of a bitch!" he wailed as the bright sun assaulted his sensitive eyes.

Cursing the centre of the solar system viciously, he put his hand above his eyes, alleviating the pain ever so slightly, and looked around. No sign of Sam. Concerned, he headed to the owner of the motel, who had the last room as their own, and a cutaway window so he could talk to customers.

"Hey mate, have you seen my brother? Big and tall, long hair, most likely in a flannel shirt of some kind?" Dean asked the portly old man in the booth, his voice sounding like grit on the road.

"Your brother? No sorry son, I haven't. If I see him do you want me to tell him you're looking for him?" the old man asked good naturedly, though his nose was slightly wrinkled, most likely from the smell of stale alcohol on Dean's breath.

Dean looked around. Alright, now he was officially worried. The bed that ought to have been Dean's hadn't been slept in. There was no sign of any sort of Sam in the room, other than the duffel bag he had dropped there when they had got there yesterday. The car was still here. He wasn't answering his phone, and no one had seen him. Worry filled Dean. Where was his brother? If he was hurt somewhere, and Dean wasn't able to assist because he'd been drinking, he would never forgive himself.

Sam had gotten on at him a few times for the amount of alcohol he had been drinking. Ever since the destruction of his relationship with Lisa and Ben and all that that had entailed, Dean had just been relying on alcohol more and more to get him through things. Losing two of the three best things that had ever happened to him (his brother being the other), combined with the numerous losses they had sustained, Sam's mental problems, Castiel's betrayal and death and the death of Bobby, it all seemed just too much to try and work out without an aid. While Sam never missed an opportunity to let Dean know he was willing to listen if Dean wanted to talk, let him know he just wanted to help his big brother, that just wasn't Dean's thing. And he definitely felt that talking about his feelings fell under the girly, no-chick flick moment rule.

But recently, even Dean had to admit he had been really bad. After all, he could usually hold whatever he drank, but this morning he was suffering from the hangover from hell, and on top of that Sam was missing. How could he be so irresponsible? Sam was his job, looking after him, protecting him. After the thing with Becky, yeah he had said he would back off and stop babying Sam, but it was second nature to him, he couldn't help himself. It was his job, had always been his job, and even though he had screwed it up a few times, he had always gotten Sam back.

So where the hell was he now?

He was just about to go to the car and drive around town to look for him the old fashioned way, very slowly he supposed considering he was probably at least a hundred times over the legal limit, when a police car rolled into the gravel covered parking lot. Two police officers from the town department got out and headed straight for the old man's booth, passing Dean by with a curt nod as they did so.

"Sir, did you see or hear anything around here between the hours of one and three last night?" the lead officer, a spindly man with a moustache and country sounding accent asked the man.

"Sorry son, my hearing aid is on the fritz, say that again?" the old man called, fiddling with his ear.

The officer repeated himself, and an unpleasant feeling crept into Dean's gut, and he didn't think it was the alcohol. It was his protect Sam feeling, the one that usually cropped up when he failed. He edged a little closer to hear what the officers were saying.

"A man was brutally attacked here last night, he was seen by a passing motorist who called the ambulance. He's been taken to the local hospital, but any later and he would have died. He's incredibly lucky to be alive, he was nearly dead when they found him he'd been attacked so viciously. We think it might be one of your guests." The other man, an older man with receding Captain Picard hair said.

"No son, I'm sorry, I didn't hear or see anything. Sleeping tablets you see. Besides, like I said, my hearing aid is giving me grief. What about you lad?" the proprietor called, noticing Dean.

But Dean ignored the old man and looked imploringly at the two officers.

"The man who was found, who was he? What did he look like? See, my brother's missing and now I'm starting to freak out." He said worriedly, his stomach churning with worry, alcohol and premature guilt.

"We don't know his name, he wasn't in any shape to tell us kid. But I'm pretty sure you would know him if you saw. Over six foot, long hair, almost beat to a pulp the poor kid. He only said one word when he was taken in. 'Dean' I think it was." The older man said, looking to the other for confirmation, and the answering nod was all the answer Dean needed.

He didn't need to see the nod. He was on his knees, vomiting up yet more of his stomach's contents, making the policemen leap back in fright, fearful of it getting on their shoes.

"Oh my god, Sammy...Sammy..." he mumbled, and pulled himself to his feet.

"Poor lad, bit under the weather this morning." The old man explained to the police, who were looking at Dean with distaste.

"Whoa son, how much did you drink last night? I'm getting drunk just from the fumes." The moustached one said in astonishment.

"He's my brother." Dean breathed anxiously.

"Who is?" the younger asked in confusion.

"The guy in hospital. He's my baby brother. I'm Dean. He wasn't here when I woke up, I was going to go looking for him, I haven't seen him since last night. Please, you gotta take me to him." He pleaded urgently, his concern for Sam overriding everything, including how pathetic and gravelly he sounded. He would drive himself, but he didn't want to meet these boys in a professional capacity, not when his brother was in such a state.

"You going to puke again?" the younger asked, earning him an elbow from the older man.

"No, I'm good. Please, hurry!" he urged, heading to the car.

"Thanks for the help sir." They said, doffing their hats to the old man, who waved at them cheerily before once more scowling at his ear.

The drive was quick, through the local countryside to the small hospital just outside of town. But Dean's thoughts weren't on the drive. They were on Sam. Someone, according to what the police had said, had damn near murdered his baby brother right outside their room. Dean, his big brother, his protector, had been wasted out of his brain and hadn't even known, not until hours later. His little brother had been viciously attacked, and he was none the wiser. How bad was Sam? Were his injuries as bad as the police were saying? He knew better than anyone that Sammy was a fighter, but how much had he endured? And combined with that, he would have had that prick Lucifer singing in his head all the while he was attacked too. Just how bad was Sam going to be? What if this was the event that finally made Sam crack, drove him inexorably over the edge into insanity, something Dean had been terrified of ever since that treacherous jerk Cas had broke Sam's wall so Dean couldn't stop him getting to Purgatory.

And more importantly, who had done this? Who had hurt Sam? Who had attacked him so horribly, so viciously that Sam was on death's door? It didn't seem the style of the Leviathans, but he supposed he couldn't rule them out. Vampires? As far as they knew there weren't any around, but that meant nothing. Demon? Crowley had apparently called a truce, but that didn't mean some damn Lucifer loyalist was betraying his marching orders. Angel? Yeah, they were more than capable, but aside from Cas and Balthazar they had been mercifully free of those wankers since they'd scuppered their plans for the Apocalypse. Or was it just humans? Drunks perhaps? Muggers? Hunters? After all, Dean never had hunted down Walt and Roy like he had vowed. If they were back, so help him he was going to tear them limb from limb for hurting his baby brother, possibly twice.

His stomach was churning again. The situation was simple. His dad had always told him to break it down. So here it was: _One, Sam was hurt, nearly beaten to death and he hadn't been there to help him. Two, he hadn't known as he had been out of his mind with booze and hadn't found out until hours later, when it could very well have been too late. Three, he didn't know what had done it. Four, when he found out who had done this to him, he was going to kill them, very slowly and very painfully._

Musings on his failings as a brother, he was relieved when the car stopped and Dean vomited once more, showering the pavement, guilt making him finish the job of cleaning out his system. Shame it didn't fix his headache, but at least his stomach felt normal now, despite the sickening feeling of guilt and failure. How could he do this to himself? Get so drunk that he didn't know that someone had tried to kill Sam? How could he let Sam down so badly? He had failed in his most basic duty, and he could just hear John yelling at him.

'_What the hell were you thinking boy? I always told you to watch out for him, and you didn't! Sam might have died, and it would have been your fault! How could you be so stupid?'_

Cursing the voices in his head, and ignoring the questions of the police, he threw them a quick thanks and ran into the hospital. He darted to the desk, and not even noticing how pretty the blonde and amply built nurse was, he demanded to know where his brother was, and as soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean dashed to the room where his brother was being held.

And stopped short, and found himself once more suppressing the urge to be sick.

Dean had seen Sam in a state before, but nothing was quite like this. He was lying on the bed, swollen bruised eyes closed. There were cuts over his face, and plaster on his nose. There were two large purple bruises on his head, and his mouth was swollen around the lips. His neck had purple imprints from where someone had clearly tried to strangle him. His right wrist was wrapped in bandages. Gauze was wrapped round his torso, and there were bruises all over his beaten body particularly the stomach and chest, along with deep bloody scratches on his arms, legs and elbows.

"Oh my god Sammy..." Dean said, rushing to the chair at his brother's side.

"Mr Winston?" the bespectacled doctor from the door asked, and Dean had to remember what name they were using this week, and nodded.

"Yeah, that's me. I'm his brother, Dean." He said, his eyes not leaving his broken little brother.

"I am so sorry for what happened to him. My sister runs the local bar and says there were a lot of rowdy drunks last night, I expect your poor brother happened upon them and they, well took advantage." He said, and Dean turned and looked at him in alarm, fearing what he was implying.

The kindly bald doctor realised what he had said, and his eyes widened in shock.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't meant it like that at all, not at all. Just didn't think before I opened my mouth. No, that area is probably the only area not harmed significantly." The doctor said, looking at Sam's unconscious form pityingly.

Dean looked at his beaten little brother, and automatically started stroking his hand gently through Sam's hair.

"Will he be alright?" Dean asked urgently, looking at his little brother and silently pleading with him to wake up.

The doctor tapped his chin with his pen.

"I don't know. The next twenty four hours are key. If he makes it through the night, he'll make a full recovery. But we're waiting on scan results back to know if he has internal bleeding, but I'm reasonably confident that it's just bruising. But his head took some severe knocks, he had a very heavy concussion, so I'm waiting on the MRI scan to come back to tell me more. And aside from both possible internal bleeding and brain damage, his body has dealt with a lot, so his body might shut down, but I think he was saved in time to avoid that. But there's also the attempted strangulation. From what we've seen, if the attacker had waited a second or two more to let go, your brother would have been dead before we got to him." The doctor recounted sadly, and Dean shivered, unconsciously squeezing Sam's plaster bound hand with his own.

"But you think he has a good chance?" Dean asked, desperate for reassurance.

After all, that was normally Bobby's job, it would be him that would tell him Sam was strong, that he would be fine. But Bobby was gone.

"Yes. I'd say seventy thirty if I'm pessimistic, but I could be persuaded to go to ninety ten if I have coffee and feel optimistic afterwards." He said kindly, patting Dean on the shoulder in a fatherly way.

"Thaks doc. So what did this son of a bitch do to him?" Dean asked venomously.

"Heavy concussion, dislocated nose, severe abrasions to the face, hands, knees, elbows and arms, severe bruising of the abdomen and possible internal damage, broken wrist, two broken ribs but he did avoid a punctured lung, blunt force trauma to the chest and face, asphyxiation damage from the strangulation and to top it off, he sprained his ankle as well." The doctor said grimly.

"Aww Sammy, I'm so sorry." He whispered to his unmoving brother.

"I'll leave you two alone. I shall be back later." The doctor said, nodding to Dean.

Dean watched as the man left, and looked sadly at his little brother.

"Aww Sammy, I'm so sorry. This should never have happened, I should never have gotten so drunk, I should have been with you, this never would have happened. But did you hear? The doc reckons you'll be fine, ok? You'll be fine Sammy." Dean said, and cursed the tears that were stinging his eyes as he held his unknowing brother's hand.

"And don't be your usual stubborn self just to prove him wrong ok? Don't you dare die on me, or I'll kick your ass. And if you even think of going to heaven now, I'm pretty sure Bobby will kick your ass too, and so will everyone else we know. I was usually the one who bore the brunt of Ellen's wrath, but I don't fancy your chances if you go and die and go up there before your time, she'll kick you in the ass, you hear me?" Dean prattled affectionately, smoothing his brother's covers, while his brother slept silently.

"I'm sorry I let this happen to you Sammy. It won't happen again. I promise I'll drink a hell of a lot less. Besides, another hangover like this one might kill me anyway, and I reckon you'd find a way to bring me back just so you could kick my ass if I did that. You kept telling me, and I didn't listen. I'm sorry Sammy."

He looked at his prone brother, still receiving no response, and so continued to prattle to himself.

"I'll find whoever did this Sammy. The police warned me in the car that they don't take kindly to vigilantes, but screw them. They want stop me protecting you ok? I'll find whoever did this and rip them limb from limb for this. I swear." He vowed, growling dangerously, hoping Sam would give him any sort of response, but none was forthcoming.

"I swear I'll get them Sammy. Now, don't you dare die on me. Because if you leave me here, all alone, I swear I'll drag you back to life myself if I have to. If not, I'll be right behind you. You better survive this Sammy. You survived Lucifer's cage bro. You going to let getting beat up put you down? I know you won't. Wake up soon for me, ok Sasquatch? Humour me just this once and come back early. Please." He pleaded, then took a deep breath and stood, wiping his eyes as he did so.

"Alright. I've got the bastards who hurt you to hunt Sammy. But I swear I'll be here when you wake up, hokay? Don't you dare die while I'm out, you hear me? Or I'll kick your ass, and cut your hair." He said teasingly, ruffling said hair gently and affectionately, and turned for the door, but stopped himself.

"Come back Sammy." He whispered, squeezing his brother's hand one last time, and after giving his unresponsive brother a final, concerned once over, he headed for the door, checking his gun as he did so.

Time to go hunting.

**Here we are with chapter two!**

**Poor Sammy got hit really bad, the poor thing. But never mind, Dean's on the case now, even if he is suffering the hangover from hell. But now, he's away hunting to find the scumbags who did this to his little brother. I dont fancy being in their shoes when he finds them.  
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**I'm sorry if Dean seemed a little ooc at the end there, I was basing it on the aftermath of Sam's first death in season 2, but its been a while since I've seen it (I have been watching Dark Angel though, and I must say Jensen Ackles looks quite nice in that one too)  
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**So, hopefully chapter three will be up soon, I've got a chapter of Crucicrux to finish then I'll update this once more! I'm aiming for five chapters just so as you know. And I've also got a couple of ideas for other Supernatural stories, one of which is touched on here.  
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**So I will see you all soon, till then please read and review as always, and next chapter, Dean catches up to the attacker!  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural (and after seeing a couple of pictures the last few days I regret that even more)**

The Demon Drink

Dean decided to first retrace his own steps. Since Sam had been attacked outside the motel, it made sense to find out where he had come from in order to establish what had happened to his little brother. As a result, his first stop was the kindly old man who owned the motel.

"So sorry to hear that its your brother who was attacked, and right here in my parking lot, terrible business, just terrible." The old man said with distaste.

"Have you got any security cameras or anything that might have seen who did it?" Dean asked, and the man pondered a little.

"Actually, the old security camera still runs tapes, but it takes a while for them to play out. I'll check when it runs out and give it to you as soon as you're done. You working with the police?" he asked, and Dean nodded quickly.

"Yeah sure, I want to find who did this to my brother. Speaking of, when was the last time you saw him last night?" Dean asked, and the old man stroked his chin in thought.

"Hmm, let me think...just about eleven o'clock, he asked me where the local bar was, I assume he was looking for you, he thanked me and left, I assume to go and meet you there." He said, and Dean nodded in thanks.

"Cheers. Try and get that video for when I get back." He said, and headed into town.

Right, Sam had left the motel at the back of eleven. According to what the police had said, he had been attacked at around two, so that left four hours unaccounted for, and Dean doubted he would have gone into the bar and waited that long for Dean. No, he must have done something else in the intervening time, Sam wasn't a heavy drinker like he was. Bitterly lamenting that him being a heavy drinker is what had gotten them into this mess, he looked around the centre of town.

It was a small town, Dillimore. Along with the bar, which was at the end of a long road as if someone had added it on as an afterthought, there were only a few other businesses. There was the police station which made it stand out from the usual haunts he and Sam visited but that was about it. The hospital was halfway to the next town. There was a gas station. Would Sam go there? There were only a few places he might have actually gone before coming to find Dean in the Welcome Pump Bar. The gas station, which had a small sort of cafe section added onto the side, was one such location. There was also a general store which would make sense if he had doubled back to the room before coming to find Dean. And there was also a barbers, but he highly doubted Sam would have been in there even if it had been open. As it stood, either the general store or the gas station offered the best bet as to where he had been.

Dean headed for the store, eyeing everyone. As far as he know from the local press, the strangest thing that had happened in the town was a farmers sheep somehow getting into the furniture store, but that didn't speak of anything demonic going on. There had been no deaths in the last two weeks, and the only attempted murder was Sam's. So, what were they dealing with? Was something supernatural going on or was Sam a victim of normal humans?

Either way, Dean would be relentless.

Entering the store, he saw only a few locals rifting through the shelves, so Dean went straight to the cashier, a middle aged woman with her hair in a loose bun and who had a matronly feel about her.

"Excuse me, I wonder if you can help. My brother was attacked last night, and I'm trying to find out what happened to him. Did you see him last night?" he asked, and considering the store was open twenty four seven.

She pulled on her glasses and looked at the picture Dean presented to her, and she nodded.

"Yes, I remember him. Ever so polite. He was looking for things to combat a hangover by the looks of what he bought, bottles of water, settlers, toothpaste, that sort of thing. So he's the poor lamb who was attacked last night, doesn't deserve it. Will he be alright?" she asked kindly, and he nodded.

"He will be." He said, his tone broaching no argument, though he was struggling to hide his own doubts.

"Are you with the police or are you dabbling in individual investigation?" she asked sternly, and he sighed, looking at her pleadingly. This was Sam's job, winning over uncooperative women, one look from his puppy dog eyes and they were generally as helpless as Dean was when Sam used them on him.

"Look, my baby brother was nearly murdered. It's my job to protect him and I failed. I just want to find who did this to him, that's all, surely you can understand that?" he wheedled, and she nodded after a pause.

"I suppose so. But no playing the vigilante, my husbands the chief of police here, and we don't take kindly to outsiders going off on their own little quests for revenge. But yes, he was here. Hmm, a little after eleven, just as I was closing up. He asked me if there were any places he could get something to eat at that time, so I sent him to the cafe in the station." She recounted, ticking things off on her fingers.

"Ok, thanks that really helps. Hope to see you again." Dean said, and headed out of the shop.

So, Sam had left the motel around eleven, and had gone to the shop to get stuff for what he must have assumed was Dean's inevitable hangover. Smiling slightly at his brother trying to look after him, Dean wondered. Had Sam taken the stuff back to the room? If so, Dean hadn't seen it this morning, and if it was there and he just hadn't seen it, boy was he wishing he had seen it now. He would check when he got back to the room. For now, he had to check the gas station cafe.

So, he was beginning to get a clearer picture of events. Sam had left the motel, most likely to come and find him. He had went to the store to get medicine for Dean's hangover the next morning, and apparently headed to the cafe. So, in that time, had Sam gone back to the motel room to put the medicines back, or had he gone straight to the cafe?

"Excuse me, could you tell me if my brother was in here last night? Only he was attacked last night and I'm trying to find out what happened to him." Dean explained.

The bulky red headed man nodded musingly to himself, flipping an egg as he did so, and the smell of it made Dean feel slightly sick. Turns out he still wasn't completely recovered after all.

"Yeah, he was in here last night. Said the wifi in his room was lousy, so got himself a coffee and stayed here for an hour abouts, then said he was headed home before he went to pick up his 'piss head brother' I believe he called him...and I've just realised that was you wasn't it?" the man asked sheepishly, and Dean glowered. If Sam woke up, he would get an earful for calling him that. Piss head indeed.

"Ok thanks." Dean said, leaving the cafe behind.

Right, Sam must have gone home to drop off the stuff. Which meant he could have made himself feel better this morning if he'd bothered to check. He would kick himself for that one later, at the moment he was still kicking himself for letting this happen to Sam in the first place. So, Sam had come home around the back of twelve then, dropped off the stuff and must have gone back to the bar, where he must have found Dean. Dean swore at himself. If he hadn't drunk so much last night, he might be able to remember his brother coming into the bar, and then he wouldn't be taking so long to find out what had happened to his brother. While Sam ought to be safe at the hospital, an unpleasant thought just struck him. Leviathans were known to frequent hospitals. And Dean had left Sam there, all beaten and broken, without any protection, all because he had been too wasted to look after his baby brother. What if there were Leviathans in town, and he had left Sam to them if they were there. Why hadn't he thought of that before? They knew full well the Leviathans were after them, why hadn't it occurred to him that Sam might be in danger from them? Cursing himself for his stupidity, he pulled out the phone and quickly dialled the hospital. He couldn't keep drinking like this. It was affecting his ability as a hunter, and more importantly, big brother, so much so that he couldn't do either job properly. How could he get so bad? He knew better than this. He also knew beating himself up about it wasn't going to help any, but it made him feel a little better about himself by mentally berating himself.

He could just hear Bobby giving him a telling off in the back of his mind.

"_So what, you going to sit there and feel sorry for yourself? Family makes mistakes Dean. Remember when you decided you didn't want Sam to be your brother anymore because he finished off starting the Apocalypse? I was ready to kick your ass, it was like I was seeing yer father come back right before my eyes. That's the sort of jerk move he'd have done, which if he'd told you boys anything could easily have been avoided. Family don't always make you a pie to come home to boy! They make mistakes. This time was your turn. You screwed up and Sam got hurt. Now, you aint gonna let it happen again, so stop your pity party and feeling sorry for yerself, get your ass in gear, get your head in the game and find out who attacked yer brother ya idjit!_"

Dean smiled slightly at the thought of Bobby's rant. Even dead, he would probably still kick his ass for letting this happen to his little brother.

"Thanks Bobby." He whispered silently, and suddenly felt a chill on his shoulder, but shrugged it off as the hospital answered.

"Hi, this is Dean Winston, I just want to check on my brother Sam." He said, and after a small wait, the doctor came onto the phone.

"Hello Dean. He actually seems to be doing a little better, his breathing is getting easier and there was activity beneath his eyes not long after you left. And I've had the rest results back, he has no internal bleeding, I'm just waiting for the MRI scan result to come back. Would you like me to call you when it does?"

"Yeah that would be great, thanks."

Dean entered the room, feeling slightly heartened. There was still something going on inside his brother's head, so that was a good sign. Mind you, in its own way it could also be bad news because Lucifer could be whittering in Sam's ear, and that wasn't good. And there was still the fear that there could be Leviathans around, despite how small a town Dillimore was. Dean entered the room, his head still pounding, and promptly laid his eyes on the bag of items Sam had brought in the night before. Cursing his own stupidity even more than he had done all morning, he quickly popped two aspirin and began opening Sam's computer. Maybe this could help him narrow down the time as well, see exactly what had happened in the blank space he was missing. Grumbling about his own stupidity, unclear even to himself whether he meant what happened to Sam or not seeing the medicine earlier, he began looking through the laptop. However, he was a big brother, and he did have access to his little brother's laptop, so what was the harm in having a little fun? After changing Sam's desktop to a picture of Finn from Glee (knowing how much his brother detested the show), and also changing Sam's screensaver to say 'DeanSam', and 'Dean rocks', he set about investigating what Sam had been investigating the night before. He spent over an hour going through the sites Sam had accessed, and saw nothing to indicate the town had anything supernatural going on inside it. No one had had so much as a cold for the last three months...at least until last night and some scumbag had tried to murder his little brother.

So, no signs of anything supernatural. That didn't mean they weren't there. After all, the day before Cold Oak nothing supernatural had been in the mart where Sam had been abducted from, and look how that had turned out. But Dean had also gotten no weird vibes from anyone in town.

"So who did this to you Sammy? Because I'm beginning to think it was a human nasty. And when I'm through with them, they won't even be able to come back as a ghost." He growled menacingly, ignoring the fact that he was talking to himself.

The last time Sam had entered a site on his laptop had been just before one. So, it stood to reason that after that, Sam must have headed to the bar to pick up Dean, so that's where Dean would go and hopefully then find out some answers. It was driving him mad. He had been at this all day, and he was no closer to finding out who had attacked Sam. Nothing in the town seemed out of place, no one would have had any reason to attack him, so if he went along with the theory that it had indeed been a drunken attack or mugging, the attacker had to have left some traces somewhere. Someone would have seen something, or heard something surely. Mind you, these towns were odd places at times, and some people could be quite hostile to outsiders, and if that was what happened, they might try to finish the job before Sam woke up and gave the police information they couldn't ignore. Dean sighed. He would check out the bar, see if that led anywhere, and if not, after that all he could do was hope the old man came through with the recordings, and hopefully before the police got their hands on them. And if that didn't work, Dean would tear the town apart with his bare hands if that was what it took to find out who hurt Sam and protect him.

Entering the bar a few minutes later, the landlady, a tall attractive older woman with curly iron grey hair looked at him in alarm.

"Please tell me you're not here for a drink, you nearly bankrupted me last night." She said, though was smiling slightly.

'"Yeah, sorry about that. How much did I drink anyway, I was dying this morning." He complained, and she counted the list off on her hands.

"Five beers, twelve whiskeys, three vodkas, one brandy, and once your brother showed up to take you home, you had two more whiskeys before you left, three shots of sambucca and three shots of Aftershock, its a wonder you're not in the hospital." She said, looking at him musingly.

Dean blanched. No wonder he had been dead to the world, drinking all that there was a chance he could have been dead.

"No, I'm not in the hospital, but my little brother is. Can you remember when he showed up?" he asked, and she thought, a look of concentration on her face.

"It was about half twelve. He came in, you were playing pool, rather drunkenly but still rather well I might add and he seemed to be worried about you. He asked you to go home and you shoved him away. He rolled his eyes and he had a beer or two, and when you came over, your mood had totally changed and you were really happy to see him all of a sudden. He convinced you to have the sambuccas," she explained, and Dean made a mental note to kill Sam when he was better, the little sod knew sambucca gave Dean an awful headache, "seemed to enjoy it too, and then you had yourself a few more drinks before I started closing up and he finally convinced you to go home." She said, and Dean frowned.

"So when did he arrive?"

"Just after one. You left just under an hour later. You were being, well, difficult I suppose." She said, wincing as she did so, and he looked at her for an explanation.

"What do you mean difficult?" he demanded.

"Well you didn't want to go back, even though I was closing, you kept saying you wanted to stay. You kept shoving your brother away, telling him to leave you alone, but he was quite insistent. He eventually managed to get you to go out, but you were very bitter about it, muttering angrily and making a pain of yourself quite frankly."

Shame filled Dean's stomach. Sam, as always, had only been trying to help, and Dean had reacted as he usually did when he had had too much to drink, like a complete jackass.

"I didn't hurt him did I?" he asked meekly, and she shook her head.

"No, but you were being horrible to him, you told him that you didn't need him, that you could manage without him. You kept pulling away, telling him to go and ruin someone else's life. I know it was the drink talking, but he did seem a little upset by what you were saying." She said apologetically, and Dean felt sick with shame. What sort of brother was he if he told Sam stuff like that, no matter how drunk he was?

"Did anyone seem interested in Sam, anyone who might have had a reason to hurt him?" Dean asked, eager to find who had harmed his brother.

"Your brother, no. The truckers you were playing pool against were mad at you though, you might have been pissed but you still took a lot of their money. They were about to start throwing punches I think when your brother basically started to drag you towards the door." She explained, and Dean frowned. Truckers who he had ticked off. Could they have attacked Sam as revenge against him? It seemed a pretty pointless, trivial and brutal way to get back at Dean just for making them lose a couple of hundred bucks, but you never could tell. But something wasn't quite right, and he couldn't put his finger on it.

"These truckers, any of them seem different from usual?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"No, they all get a little grouchy after beer starts flowing. They were mad yes, but they wouldn't hurt your brother. They might have smacked you, but not your brother if that's what you're thinking." She said sharply, and Dean nodded.

"I know. I was just wondering if you knew where they hang out, so I can ask them if they saw anyone around us on the way home, which would have been what time by the way?" he asked, and she cast her memory back.

"Just after two he finally got you out and bound for home. The truckers usually hang out at the pay and spray down the road, that's where you'll find them." She advised, and Dean thanked her before leaving the bar.

As he made his way to the pay and spray, Dean's thoughts were troubling. What else had he said to Sam last night? Feeling ashamed of himself he wondered how much he might have hurt his brother. Yeah Sam was a big boy, but Dean telling him that he had ruined his life might be taken the wrong way. After all, Sam had always feared that it was his fault that everything had gone wrong in their lives, and if Dean had told him that...

What the hell had happened last night? He had definitely left the bar with Sam, and Sam must have gotten him home. But how was Sam attacked? Did one of the truckers lure him outside? Who had attacked him when he was meant to be safe? Had he gone back for something and been attacked then? There were still so many questions? And Dean betted he had been a true help.

Dean knew very well that he could be a disagreeable drunk, just like their father could be. While Bobby had been a drunk a lot of the time, he had never really been that bad. Yeah he would grumble a lot and warn you to go away, but he was never that disagreeable. Dean on the other hand would moan and grumble, say things he didn't mean. Once when they had been younger, not long after their dad had died, Dean had been drunk and had brutally told Sam Jess' death was his fault. Sam hadn't talked to him for days, and when Dean finally learned of what he had said to his brother, he had felt sickened with himself, and had worked his ass off grovelling for forgiveness. What had Dean said to Sam on the way home?

Resolving to work that out later, he turned into the garage and was met by the hostile glares of the truckers.

"It's him, the one who took our cash." One trucker with scraggly hair growled menacingly.

The leader, wearing a cap and with a big grey beard, waved him down.

"Quiet boy. He won the money fair and square. He may be a braggart, but he won fair and square, so let it go." He commanded, and the other three backed down.

"Hi guys. No hard feelings about last night?" he asked hopefully, and the bearded one nodded, though he was receiving mutinous looks from the others.

"None. We believe in fairness." He said, glaring at the others.

"Good. Did you guys happen to see anyone following my brother and me last night, or anyone near us?" Dean asked, hopeful that he would finally get an answer.

"No, can't say I did. All of us came back here, so we lost sight of you just before the motel mind you, but we were behind you most of the way, and there was no one else but you and your brother." The big man recounted, and Dean frowned. That had to mean whoever attacked Sam had done it in the parking lot. But why had Sam gone back outside after getting Dean into the room?

"No sign of anyone at all?" Dean asked wheedlingly, and the big man shook his head.

"Not a soul. Dillimore's only a small town, no one but people in the bar have reason to be out after basically twelve, and even then its a stretch." He explained.

"Did any of you go back out?" Dean asked, and the scraggly haired one darted for him, his fist rising to meet Dean's face.

Dean dodged the attack and kicked the man in the gut, sending him sprawling to the ground with a curse.

"You implying we'd knock off your brother? He wasn't the jerk who took our money!" he said from the ground, but stopped trying to get back up when the big man put his foot on top of his chest, holding him down.

"Stay down," he growled, and turned to Dean, "no sorry kid, none of us went back out, and I was up till the back of three, bad back. No one left, and we didn't see anyone else either." He said, and Dean could tell that he was telling the truth.

"Ok, thanks guys." Dean said, and left the garage, heading back for the motel.

So where the hell did that leave them? Sam had taken him home, had gotten him to the room, despite Dean most likely being an obnoxious prick, and put him to bed, but had still managed to be brutally attacked to the point where he had almost died. Which could only mean he had gone back outside for some reason, but why? Had he dropped something? Surely the police would have found it when they swept the parking lot. So why had Sam gone back out? Or had they been attacked, and had Dean just abandoned Sam to his own devices? Surely he wouldn't do that, no matter how drunk he was. Sam was his baby brother, he wouldn't leave him to fend for himself in a fight even if he was wasted. So what the hell had happened?

Anger coursed through Dean. How could he let this happen? His brother had been nearly murdered, he had been looking all day and no one was any the wiser as to who had attacked Sam. And as the police hadn't called, they didn't know either. Dean wanted to find this son of a bitch and make him pay, but how could he do that when he didn't have the faintest idea as to who the hell it could be? Furious with himself and his lack of knowledge, he entered the parking lot, only to be distracted by the old owner.

"Here you are son, I've got it." He called, and Dean ran over.

"Thanks. Did you watch it?" he asked, and the old man shook his head after Dean repeated himself.

"No son, my VCR is on the blink. There's a TV/VCR in your room though, so you can put your mind at ease. Just make sure and give it back after you're done." He said kindly, patting his hand before bustling into his own room.

Dean smiled grimly. Finally, he could identify the son of a bitch who did this. So far, his best suspect was the scraggly haired trucker, but still, it didn't quite add up. Dean entered the room once more, and quickly put the video into the TV. Time to get some answers at last. Who the hell had hurt his little brother? And once he knew, nothing would stop him, he vowed to himself.

Just as the tape was getting ready to play, the phone went off.

"Hello Dean, this is Dr Cox. I've just had your brother's MRI results back from the labs. No concussion, which makes me think that after a while of taking it easy, he'll be fully recovered." The doctor said kindly, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's great. Thanks doc. I'll be by later on to see him." He said, and hung up, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Sam was going to be alright. There had been no permanent damage to him whatsoever. And from now on, things were going to change. Dean never wanted to feel this helpless again, not when it came to Sam. He had nearly lost his brother because of his drinking. That could never happen again. It was time to sober up, before he did something he truly regretted. And losing his brother would have been something he would have regretted. In fact, losing his brother would probably have ended him too. He couldn't do this alone, neither could Sam, both of them had proved that over the years. He had to change, or he could lose the only thing that kept him human too.

But firstly, he had to find the scumbag who had nearly killed his brother, and deal out a little Winchester style vengeance. Then he could focus on getting Sammy better and getting the hell out of here, and back onto the road.

He fast forwarded to right about the appropriate time. Squinting, he saw as he and Sam came onto the screen. Alright, if he and Sam were both there, who the hell had attacked them? Or had Dean acted like a drunken coward and abandoned his brother when he needed him most? Surely he hadn't.

He could see that the two of them were talking. Dean himself looked angry, very angry, and kept trying to pull away from Sam. Sam finally let go and turned to Dean, obviously talking to him normally, but it was clear that Sam too was losing his temper with his drunk older brother. He opened the door, and turned back to Dean, who was still glaring at him furiously. Sam then took a step towards his brother, looking worried, and laid a hand on his shoulder as if to guide Dean into the room, talking while he did so. And then, Dean seemed to suddenly snap. Snarling angrily, he smacked his brother in the face, sending him crashing to the ground.

Dean looked at the screen, transfixed in horror. He had hit his little brother. He watched as the camera version of himself teetered forward, while Sam looked up at him angrily. And then the beating began. Dean watched, horrified. He fell atop his brother, viciously assaulting him, time and time again, punching him, kicking him, continuing with the brutal offensive. Dean looked at himself, and didn't like at all what he saw. He saw an angry, violent drunk, yelling at his defenceless little brother, who had been so surprised by the attack that he hadn't been able to defend against him. He was worse than the worst of the violent alcoholics. Here he was, laying into his little brother viciously and without provocation, beating him nearly to death in a hateful attack that he knew instantly Sam had done nothing to deserve. He watched as Sam pleaded desperately after being kicked down the stairs and saw exactly what had happened to his little brother. After Dean had gotten bored of attacking Sam with his hand and feet, he fell atop of him and wrapped his hands around Sam's throat, and slowly began to squeeze. He watched as a broken, beaten and bloodied Sam tried to force his brother off, but it was to no avail, and Dean watched in horror as his little brother stopped struggling and went still. The image of Dean immediately let go of his neck and stood up, swaying angrily as he did so. He continued to yell abuse at Sam, and then hatefully spat on the ground next to his brother, before staggering up the stairs and slamming the room door behind him.

And while Dean had watched the entire scene, images from the night before came to his mind's eye as his alcohol ridden brain finally caught up with him. He remembered hitting Sam, sending his brother sprawling to the floor. He remembered hammering down on his little brother, time and again, in a rage filled hate driven attack, as he vented all of his own frustrations and his own failings on the one he loved the most. All the anger, all the guilt, all the pain that he had been bottling up, for years in some cases, came pouring out into the only other one who had been with him through thick and thin. He had been the one who had attacked his little brother. The one who had punched his face into a bloody mess. The one who had cracked his ribs. The one who had kicked him in the stomach. The one who had driven Sam's face into the hard gravel after kicking him down the stairs. The one who had tried his hardest to kill him.

Every negative emotion Dean had ever had, exacerbated by the vast amounts he had drunk, let out to a single target, one who was unable to defend against such a brutal assault. Dean had nearly murdered his little brother.

He remembered it all, pummelling Sam's face, kicking him down the stairs, stomping his face into the ground. And he remembered falling onto his brother, his brother's neck in his hands, and he remembered squeezing hard. He remembered Sam jerking, struggling to get Dean off, his eyes wide and desperate as he tried to free himself from the brother who was trying to murder him. He remembered Sam's weak attempts to stop Dean trying to kill him, his struggle, but it was to no avail, Dean, fuelled by anger and booze, had kept going. He remembered Sam urgently gagging for air, his voice making gagging, desperate sounds in his throat as he tried to suck in air to save himself. And he remembered his brother's wide, pleading, desperate puppy dog eyes rolling up into his skull and his eyes closing, just as his brother let go of him and stomped indoors to sleep off the alcohol.

Dean stood up and rushed to the bathroom, once more emptying the contents of his stomach, as he remembered the sight of Sam's blood covering his hands. It was Sam. Sam was the reason his knuckles were scratched. Sam was the reason his back was sore. Sam. His little brother. And he had tried his hardest to kill him, and had damn well near succeeded.

Dean retched again, the thought of Sam's blood staining his hands making him feel worse. He was the monster who had tried to kill Sam. And this time, he hadn't been possessed, entranced or anything. This time he had just been drunk and snapped. And it was his baby brother that had paid the price.

Dean continued to vomit down the toilet, the image of what he had done to his brother imprinted on his brain, giving him no reprieve.

He was the monster.

He was the one who had almost murdered his baby brother.

He was the one who had attacked Sam.

XX

In the hospital, Sam suddenly awoke, his eyes fluttering open. He felt like hell. Worse than hell actually. Ignoring Lucifer, who was currently singing 'Wake Up' by the Boo Radleys, Sam forced his brain to work, and resisted the urge to puke.

He was in the hospital.

And Dean was the onewho had put him there.

Sam fought down a heartbroken sob, while Lucifer continued to sing, taunting that his big brother really meant all he had said last night. Saying that his big brother had wanted him gone from the start. That it was his fault everyone they loved was dead.

Saying that Dean hated him enough to want to kill him.

"Shut up!" Sam cried out, the image of Dean's hate filled face filling his memory.

Dean. His big brother. The one who always made everything better, who had always been there for him.

Dean. The man who had tried, and nearly succeeded, in murdering him.

Sam sobbed, still ignoring Lucifer, who now had a dance routine to match his improvised song, as Dr Cox entered, to see his patient in tears.

His big brother had tried to kill him. He had told him exactly how much he hated him.

And then he had nearly killed him.

Sam was in the hospital, and Dean, his big brother, who he could always depend upon...

He was the one who had put him there.

And he had enjoyed it.

**I know, you all hate me!**

**I'm sorry about who the culprit really was, I feel really bad now. But I always thought that with the way Dean's drinking was in Season 7, it was going to explode in their faces, and I always thought it would be Sam that it would explode upon, hence this story. But congratulations to Alex Megan, who cottoned on to what I was up to.  
**

**Alright, so what will happen next? And I know the Sam bit seems a bit off, but dont forget, Lucifer is prattling in his head, so how much is really what happened? What actually set Dean off? And most importantly of all, how will the boys get past this one? Theyve tried to kill each other before but never like this.  
**

**I hope to update soon (provided you don't all lynch me), and would I be pushing my luck to ask for reviews? I like seeing the nice big numbers on my inbox when i turn on my ipad. See you soon!  
**

**P.S Major kudos to anyone who knows where the town came from  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural (though currently I wouldnt mind either of the boys)**

The Demon Drink

Dean staggered out of the toilet, hitting the TV off as he went past, and collapsed onto his bed, feeling disgusted with himself. He had been the one who had attacked Sam. He had been the one who nearly killed his little brother. After looking all over town, promising vengeance on who had hurt his little brother, he had found out that the one he ought to be attacking is himself.

Ever since day one, the instinct labelled 'protect Sammy' had been hard wired into him. So how could he have fallen so far from trying to protect his little brother, to the extent that he tried to kill him? The Apocalypse had been about that, about the two of them being destined to kill each other, but they had averted that, refused to play those wanker angel's games. But now, years after they had done everything possible to avoid trying to kill one another, Dean had just tried to murder Sam. He could just hear Zachariah's mocking laughter. And the worst part of it was, he couldn't even blame anything. No shapeshifters, no vampires, no demons, no angels. All that had been behind his attack on Sam was him, pure unadulterated rage and hate, and it had exploded out of him, and had hurt Sam along with it.

How the hell was Sam ever going to forgive him?

He had seen traumatised kids, who always flinched when people raised their hands for whatever reason. Would that happen to Sam? Would he be afraid to be around Dean? Or would he do worse? Sam knew that there was one thing he could do that could torture and hurt Dean more than his forty years in Hell could ever have managed to do. He could leave. He had done it before, but he had always come back. But would he do it this time, knowing how close Dean had come to killing him? Dean had seen the video. Some small, sadistic, horrible part of him had wanted to inflict all that pain on his brother, had wanted to murder Sam. But that wasn't what he truly felt, what he truly believed. Maybe there was more of Alastair left in him than he thought.

Shivering and once more fighting the urge to vomit, Dean wondered what he should do. Sam would remember. His brother, whose mind was already fragile, would remember his big brother trying to kill him. What if he destroyed the last of the ties that bind? What if Dean, by attempting to kill Sam, broke the final hold on his brother's sanity and turned his head to mush? What was he going to do?

And just as importantly, what had caused Dean to finally snap? The landlady had said that Dean had told Sam to go and ruin someone else's life. Which obviously meant that Dean, fuelled by drunken rage, had gone down a path he should never have gone down: the path which placed the blame for everything bad in their lives at Sam's feet. Mom, dad, Ellen, Jo, Rufus, Cas, Bobby, too many other people to name, and the entire mess with Apocalypse and Ruby and the deal and dying...surely he hadn't blamed Sam for everything. Sam had always feared that it was all his fault, that he was cursed, that everything bad that happened to them was in some way due to him being him, being what he felt was cursed. What had caused Dean to snap so badly at his brother, to nearly beat the life out of the one person he had left in the world?

Dean wanted to hit something. Instead, he contented himself by picking up Bobby's hip flask and pouring the contents down the sink in the bathroom. Bobby had always said that family made mistakes. But he also said that if they were truly family, they would fix them. Friends of theirs said much the same thing. Dean had to talk to Sam. He had to find out just how bad the emotional damage was, just how much he had damaged his baby brother's already fractured psyche. Dean took a deep breath. No more Dutch courage, not for him. No, it was time to face up to his demons.

Steeling himself, Dean headed for the hospital.

XX

"_Come on Sam. You must have known this was coming, I don't see why you're so upset. You must have known that Dean only carried your sorry carcass around all these years because his precious daddy told him to, he didn't want to._" Lucifer taunted.

Sam started at the wall opposite where the devil was sitting, trying his hardest to ignore him. But what if Lucifer was right? Dean clearly hated him. He had wanted to kill him. Sam didn't even know what he had done to warrant such a thing. He had atoned for the Apocalypse, and Dean had had a hand in that anyway. He'd tried to give his brother a normal life as much as possible, it wasn't his fault things with Lisa and Ben had fallen through. The demon blood, he'd gotten over, and he had helped kill Ruby. So why had Dean snapped like that?

Or was it just as he had always feared? That Dean would eventually realise he was ruining his life and try to get rid of him once and for all?

Dean had tried to kill him. Maybe he had always hated his little brother, only pretended to care. Maybe Lucifer was right.

"_You know I'm right Sammy. You're a freak. A monster. What would Dean want with a brother like you? He just proved right everything I've been telling you. That he hated your guts. My most ingenious torture yet this. Michael loves it by the way_."

"Leave me alone." Sam muttered, determinedly staring at the wall.

"_You're only denying the obvious Sammy. He wanted you dead. Why do you think he spends so much time in bars? He does it to get away from you. Yesterday, you went looking for him, invaded his personal space. No wonder he was mad. He tries his hardest to escape from you, your curse, his useless, needy brother, and all the time you come back. Can you imagine how much better he would be if you hadn't been born?_"

Sam had wondered that recently, had even tried to bring it about once, but it hadn't worked. He had still been born, and the world, and Dean's life, had still all gone to hell. Maybe he deserved to die. Lucifer was right. Dean deserved something better than this. If he was gone, he would finally be happy. Dean deserved to be happy. Sam bit back tears, which were flooding in his eyes. His brother had always sacrificed everything for him. His life, his love, his happiness. And all Sam had brought him was pain. He would be better off if Sam wasn't around. Dean had taken matters into his own hands, had tried, wanted to kill him, just so he could finally be free. And Sam couldn't even manage to die for his brother.

He looked at the monitors that he was plugged into, trying to figure out which one to pull out, to finally give Dean what he wanted, what he deserved. Sam was getting angry, ignoring Lucifer as he encouraged him to do it. Yeah, that bastard would win, but better Lucifer won than he spent another day on the planet, hurting Dean. Sam reached across to the monitor, and felt vaguely triumphant when he found what he was looking for. A pair of scissors, used to cut his bandages had been left there. The answer was obvious. He had to let Dean live his life, free from the taint of his younger brother.

"_That's it Sammy! Better you die than keep hurting Dean. He'll be so happy when you're gone, you've no idea. No more cursed brother, no more monsters, just him alone again. He could find a family, settle down, become a dad...all the things he can't do because you hold him back, you're like some sort of parasite. Go on, end it, fix it!_" Lucifer encouraged, thoroughly enjoying himself.

"Shut up." Sam growled. Yeah, he was killing himself, but was it too much to ask that he could do it in peace without the devil giving him a running commentary?

"_Hurry Sam, do it_!" Lucifer urged, as Sam picked up the scissors and brought them to his wrist.

"Sam? Sam!" Dean cried in alarm as he entered the room.

"_Well darn_." Lucifer cursed, disappearing temporarily.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded, taking the scissors from Sam and throwing them into the bin, out of Sam's reach.

"It's what you want isn't it?" Sam asked angrily, glaring at his brother, though he couldn't help but shiver with fear a little as he saw his elder brother.

Dean took a step back, staggered by the accusation. Sam actually thought he wanted him dead.

"Sam...no, of course I don't want you dead." He protested, and Sam glared at him.

"Really, you could have fooled me. I can't imagine why I would think my brother actually wanted me dead!" he yelled, and Dean flinched from his angry tone.

"Look Sam, I know what I did was inexcusable..."

"But get over it? Because that's usually what you want me to do, isn't it? The same as always Dean, a standard for you, a different one for everyone else! I was pissed about you killing someone I cared for, and you basically told me to get over myself and stop being mad. Whereas times I've lied to you, like with Ruby, you've never let it go, you never let me forget!" Sam roared, and Dean would rather go back to Hell than admit that his brother might have a point about that. The thing with Amy, Dean had been pissed with himself, and pissed with Sam for being pissed with him in the first place. But if the positions were reversed, he was pretty sure Sam would drop it, unlike him.

"No, of course not, I mean how do you get over something like that? Of course I don't want you to just forget that I did it, there's no way either of us can do that. I need to know what went wrong, what I did..."

Sam angrily cut him off. Not that Dean blamed him. In his position, Dean would probably want to kill him too, and a tiny part of him was immensely glad that Sam was too weak to fight, because while it had been a while since they had tested it, Dean wasn't so sure he'd come off the better party in a fight anymore.

"What went wrong? I don't know. Maybe the fact that I was born in the first place. Like you said, I ruined your life." Sam growled out, though there was less menace behind it, and Dean could see the tears welling in his eyes. The urge to reach out and start stroking his brother's hair was overpowering, and he moved his hand towards Sam.

And Sam flinched.

Not a little one either. He backed away from the offending hand, afraid it would suddenly turn on him and attack him once again. Dean felt his heart break in two. His brother was afraid of him.

"Keep that away from me." Sam bit out, glaring at the wall, where he once more saw Lucifer, now eating popcorn and waving merrily.

"Sammy..."

"And don't call me that. You lost the right to call me that." Sam said, aiming to deliberately hurt him, and it worked. Dean felt those words like an ice cold knife running through the already broken remnants of his heart.

"Oh Sam. I know there's no way I can ask you to forgive me, or make it up to you. I don't even understand what happened, what made me act like that, you know I'd never hurt you..." Dean said, and Sam turned back to glare at him.

"Really? Funny that, because it's your fault I'm in here." He said sarcastically, and Dean did have to admit that he deserved that.

"Please Sam, I have to know..." Dean pleaded, wishing he could reach out to his brother, or better yet turn back the clock and stop this ever happening.

Sam continued to glare at him, but it was the tears in his eyes that were really killing him. Had Dean not arrived when he did, he was willing to bet that Sam might actually have done it, killed himself. Had he made him feel that bad? Or was it just the stress of what had happened mixed with that bastard Lucifer talking in his head?

"You were already drunk when I went to get you, really drunk. I was worried about you, you'd been gone a long time. I went up to try and take you home, and you pushed me away, so I decided to let you stay a little longer. Eventually, they started to close up and that's when you started to get angry. You didn't want to go, you just wanted to stay there. You kept telling me to leave you alone, that you didn't need me. I finally convinced you to go, but you were furious that I was making you. You started saying all sorts of stuff, how you were fed up of dragging me round, fed up of cleaning up after me. You said I had ruined your life, and that all before we even left the bar. Going outside just made you worse. You started telling me how everyone dying was my fault, how the Leviathans were my fault, the Apocalypse, everything. You mentioned Lisa and Ben, saying how you could have built a life with them if it weren't for me. I just let you keep talking, but you were starting to really get on my nerves. Then you mentioned how I was acting all pissed because of Amy, and that's when I snapped back, saying I had every right to be pissed with you because of what you did. But you never did get why I was so pissed with you when you killed Amy. Yeah, I was angry that you killed her, even more angry because you lied to me about it and I had to find out from a freaking Leviathan. But that wasn't upset me the most. The thing is you said you trusted me, and I finally really felt like I was your brother again, after the demon blood, the Apocalypse and the soulless stuff. You finally trusted me again. And then you went behind my back, after saying you would trust my judgement, and killed her anyway. I saw that I still wasn't good enough for Dean Winchester's standards of excellence that no one can meet but him." Sam continued bitterly, not looking at Dean.

Dean was flabbergasted. All that time he had spent being annoyed at Sam, all because his brother was annoyed with him due to his actions, he had never once guessed what had been truly bugging Sam. Dean was feeling worse by the second. He had begun the beating before he had even left the bar.

"You said if it weren't for me, you would have a mom, a dad, friends, a family, a life. That everything wrong in your, and I quote 'miserable excuse for a life' was all down to me. Mom dying, dad dying, Bobby dying, if I hadn't been here, none of it would have happened. I tried to reason with you, tell you that you'd feel better after some sleep, and that you wouldn't be saying those things if you weren't really drunk. You then started trying to pull away from me, you said you didn't want to be touched by me because I'm 'poison'. I got angry and left you standing against the wall, and I went to open the door. You were still muttering, and I'm sure you said something about Bobby and Lisa, so I went to check that you were alright... and then you hit me. And you kept hitting me. Punching, kicking, driving my face into the ground, you kept going at it, saying that you hate me, that I was whinny. I kept trying to make you stop, come to your senses, pleading with you not to do it. You didn't listen. And then you grabbed my neck. I've been strangled a lot of times Dean, but never before did I want to just let go. It has never felt as horrible as it did last night. You were trying to kill me. You nearly did kill me. All because you didn't stop your drinking, and keep everything bottled up inside you. It all came out, and I was the one who got in the way, the one who ruined your life, and you wanted to rid yourself of me. And you damn near succeeded too." He finished miserably.

Dean didn't know what to say. He had told his brother he hated him. Told him that it was his fault his life was in the gutter. His fault that everyone they cared about was dead. His fault that everything in their lives went wrong. That he didn't need him. That his little brother was poison. And then he had subjected Sam to one of the most brutal attacks he had ever endured. His saintly big brother had nearly killed him.

"Sam..." Dean began, but his brother turned back to face him. While his eyes were full of tears, his anger was also back, rather than the resignation.

"Don't Dean. Just don't. I've been telling you for months that you were drinking too much. You didn't listen. I've been asking you to talk, get things off your chest, you didn't listen. I've been trying to help you, fix you, and you never let me. I knew I was losing you, and I couldn't do anything. You are a vicious, brutal alcoholic, and that combined with your own self loathing made you do what you did. No demon, no ghost. Just you. A drunk, who keeps all his anger inside. And then you took it out on me. I gave you so many opportunities to tell me what was wrong, to help you, but you didn't let me. You just bottled it up, and you finally exploded. I kept telling you and you didn't hear me. And it was me who paid the price. So just...go. I can't be around you anymore. Go. Just go. I don't want to see you anymore. Just go." Sam said, tears in his eyes and voice, but his tone still grim and firm.

Dean looked at his little brother, each word ripping grievous wounds in his heart and soul. And with a last, forlorn, desperate look at his brother, he stood and went for the door.

"I'm sorry." He whispered before he left Sam's room, tears in his own eyes. Trying hard not to sob, to let what Sam had just said really affect him, he all but ran for the car.

Sam let the tears fall and pulled the covers around himself. He couldn't be with Dean. Not now. Maybe not for a while. He would have to see. But that didn't make it any easier. He hated himself for what he had said to Dean, everything he had said to Dean. He hated all the hurtful things he had said to his brother, hated making his brother feel so horrible and upset. But deep down, most of it, he knew that Dean had had to hear it, knew Dean deserved to hear it, before he hurt someone else or himself with his drinking and his feelings, but still, he felt like shit for having been the one who said it.

"_Alright, I lied. Big brother doesn't hate you so much, its just he blames you for everything. Its himself he hates, and he cant very well kick himself to death can he. So, that leaves you_!" Lucifer said heartily.

"Lucifer?" Sam asked, knowing he was skating on thin ice but not really caring at the moment, he felt bad enough as it was.

"_Yeah itty bitty Sammy_?"

"Shut the hell up."

And for once, the devil actually did as he was told and Sam allowed himself to fall asleep.

XX

Dean sat on his bed in the darkened motel room. There was a bottle of whisky sitting right opposite him. He had bought it on the way home from the hospital, fully intending to drown his sorrows. But as soon as he had gotten into the motel, saw where he had almost murdered his baby brother, and the bed that should be full of Sam typing away on his laptop, or reading a book, he had set the bottle down and was now just sitting, staring at it.

_You're a vicious, brutal alcoholic..._

Their dad had drunk a lot at times. Once, Sam had snuck out to see a movie with some of the friends he had been with in that town, and had crept back in, only to find his drunken and very angry father waiting for him. He'd only hit him once, and John had immediately regretted it, and had apologised in his own grudging way the next day. But after seeing the mark on Sam's cheek, Dean had vowed to himself that he would never become someone who would hit the ones they love just because of drink.

And to be fair he hadn't. He'd become someone who'd kill someone they love just because of drink.

Sam's condemnation of him had stung. Hurt, worse than the meat hooks in hell. He had never felt like that before. Everything Sam had told him about himself, everything Sam had told him he said to his brother last night, his condemnation as a vicious alcoholic bruiser, who was trying to self destruct but couldn't, so instead tried to destroy the thing that was most precious to him. It was an exact opposite of four years ago, when Dean had given Sam every opportunity to own up about the demon blood. He had given him every opportunity, but hadn't really pursued it, filled with his own visions of hell and his worries about the Apocalypse, and being screwed over by the angels.

Now, the tables were reversed. Sam had given him every opportunity to talk, so he could help, all he had ever wanted to do was help, and Dean, obsessed with his own failings, angry at Castiel's betrayal and all it entailed, hurt and anger at Bobby dying, and feeling sorry for himself, had just gotten worse and worse. Meanwhile his brother, who had the devil in his head 24/7, and also had to put up with an alcoholic big brother who he was slowly losing to his own self pity and self destruction, had continued trying to help his brother in any way he could, despite everything that he had to deal with. Even though he knew his brother wouldn't talk, wouldn't let him help, and he could easily get hurt. And he had.

Sam had implied that he had been afraid something like this would happen. And the worst part of it was, Dean was the one who had let it, and made it happen. Dean hated himself, and it was Sam who had paid the price. And now he had lost the thing that he loved the most. He had lost his little brother, the one good thing he had left in his life, the reason he still bothered to get up in the morning despite how crappy things were, his reason for being, the thing he had taken for granted until it was too late. He was the one who was poison.

Dean had once said that maybe the world wanted to end. That wasn't true. Truth was, he was the one who wanted to end. Now more than ever, considering he had just lost himself his little brother.

"_I told you you couldn't keep all your anger and guilt bottled up Dean_."

Dean looked up at the sound of the voice, and saw the pale, beautiful form of Jo appearing before him. His subconscious? Guardian angel? Spirit? Whatever.

"I know you did. I didn't listen though did I? And now look. I've got nothing." Dean said miserably, and Jo rolled her eyes.

"_Don't give me that Dean. You can't blame yourself for everything that goes wrong Dean. That's always been your problem. You blame yourself, feel guilty for all that goes wrong in this fucked up world of ours. You're just like Sam in that respect. He thinks everything bad is his fault too. Problem is, you feel angry about it when you can't fix things. He just feels sad. And with you, it's a volatile combination when mixed with excessive amounts of alcohol._"

Dean looked at her as she stroked her blonde hair behind her ear, and sighed.

"I get it Jo. I'm angry, and bitter, and it all came out at once, and everything I've felt for the last god knows how long, all came out last night. Problem was, it wasn't Sam I was angry at, it was me, and I made him suffer for it." He lamented, hating himself.

"_Yeah you did. You screwed up big time. But, do you wanna know something? Both of you have screwed up a lot before, and you always bounced back. Why not this time_?" she asked with a smile, and Dean snorted derisively.

"I tried to kill him. I nearly did kill him. Funny, I spent years insisting I never would, and years after all that is done, I almost did. What a joke."

Jo glowered at him angrily.

"_So that's it is it? You think you screwed up one time too many, and that's the end of your relationship with Sam_?" she demanded angrily.

"He doesn't want to be near me." He growled angrily, and she hissed in vexation.

"_There's times he hasn't wanted to be near you. And may I say, a lot of the times I actually agreed with him, despite how I feel about you. Its been very hard to prevent my mom coming down here and kicking your ass. But the point is, he always came back, to be with you, his big brother, the person he loves most in the world. But you're willing to let all of that go? Dean, you two are closer than anyone else on the planet! If anyone can overcome this, you can!_"

Dean got up and flounced towards the bathroom door.

"It's over Jo. I screwed up one time too many, and now I've lost him, ok? That's it. I tried to kill him. There is no overcoming that!"

"_No overcoming that? Dean, my mom blew me and her up! And we still get on perfectly well_!" she yelled angrily.

"Ah, what do you know, you're dead." Dean stormed, and went into the bathroom for a drink of water.

"_I know a hell of a lot more than you do, and you're alive! Dean, look at what you're doing_!" she cried in frustration as she appeared beside him in the blink of an eye.

"I'm drinking water." He said, confused as he looked at the cup in his hand, and she smiled.

"_Exactly_."

Dean looked at her in confusion, then back at the glass again. She then took his hand, her skin still felt mostly warm, which struck him as strange, and she took him back through to the other room and sat him back on the bed.

"_What do you see_?" she asked, pointing.

"The bottle of whisky I got." He said, wondering if dying scrambled your marbles a little.

"_Yeah. Unopened. You were drinking water, not alcohol._" She said softly, smiling at him.

And then it finally clicked. It had taken a very long time, but Dean had just made the first step to stopping drinking. All because of Sam. True, not the way either of them would have preferred for it to happen, but because of Sam, he had turned to water rather than booze for the first time in god knows how long.

"_Dean, you feel guilty every day. But you've got to stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong. You will self destruct. You'll hate yourself, and eventually, you'll drag Sam down with you, and you'll only wind up hurting him. Everything that goes wrong in this world isn't your fault Dean. If you want to sit here and drink yourself to death or put a bullet through your skull, go ahead. But your life isn't that bad Dean. You have someone who loves you, cares for you enough that he will forgive you for what you did to him. You aren't to blame for the world's ills Dean. In fact, the only thing you should feel guilty about right now is what you did to Sam, and the fact that you were willing to quit rather than try to fix it_." She said chidingly, and he smiled.

Maybe there was hope after all.

"But after what I did..."

"_Sam loves you. And he's a lot more forgiving and wise than you are. He also doesn't have impossibly high standards. Talk to him._" She urged.

"Jo, I don't know if I can do it alone..." he said, though he didn't know himself what he was talking about.

"_But you won't be alone. If you fix this, you'll have Sam._" She said softly, and she kissed his forehead and was gone.

Dean thought about what she had said. Could he really fix things with Sam? They'd overcome bad stuff before after all. Nothing quite like this, but they had. Could they do it again?

And as Dean thought about it, he noticed that he felt different. He felt lighter, happier. Maybe it was time to let the self pity and self hatred go. Maybe it was time he started being a human again. Maybe it was time he started being himself again. Maybe it was time he started being Sam's big brother again.

Dean got to his feet, and stood. There were two paths before him. One, to the whisky, and to oblivion. The other, to Sam and redemption. Dean turned towards the door.

"Hang on Sammy. I'm coming." He muttered to himself, taking a last look at the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label.

"_Ah good, my drink. I'll take this, just to remove temptation, so to speak. Thanks Dean, was running a little low. _" Rufus called from somewhere, and the bottle disappeared from the room.

"Here's to you guys." Dean said fondly, and made way for the hospital.

XX

"_Sam honey? Wake up._"

Sam opened his eyes, grumbling.

"Lucifer, piss off, using a woman's voice isn't going to make me like you any more." He said, but it was not Lucifer at the foot of his bed.

It was his mother.

Mary Winchester had died when he was six months old, sliced open and burned on the ceiling by Azazel. Since then the boys had seen her only a few times, usually involving time travel. But she was still beautiful, and Sam could tell that this wasn't the mocking version that wanker Zachariah had created, this was truly his mother.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" he asked, wincing as he tried to sit up to talk to her.

"_Helping my son. You seemed to be having a crappy day_." She said fondly, sitting on his bed and stroking his hair.

"Yeah, you could say that." Sam mumbled.

"_Aww how sweet! The big bad hunter needs his mommy_!" Lucifer said as he appeared, speaking in a baby voice.

Sam glowered at Lucifer, but Mary got there first.

"_Hey! Back off! I'm here to talk to my son, and I don't care who the hell you are, I'm going to say what I came here to say, and you buddy boy are not going to get in my way. Clear_?" she asked, her eyes flashing dangerously.

Lucifer and Sam looked at each other, flabbergasted, but Sam could barely suppress his glee at the astounded look on Lucifer's face.

"_Don't you know who I am_?" he demanded furiously, and she rolled her eyes.

"_Yes. You're nothing more than a spoilt little brat who had a perpetual temper tantrum and got himself kicked out of home. So, too proud to say sorry, you go off and start making tons of little friends underground so you don't feel lonely. Quite sad really. And then you ruin millions of lives across the centuries simply by existing, including my two kids, so I really am not your biggest fan. And then, because you're bored and have jealousy issues to your brothers, you start a fight to make yourself feel big and important, but all it makes you do is seem childish and pathetic. You're willing to wreck everything your family owns just to show that you're better than humans, when really, you're not better than the worst of us. I couldn't care less who you are Lucifer. I'm dead, there's nothing you can do to me, you rotten little brat. Now, go back to your hidey hole, and give my boy a break, or so help me, I'll stick you on the rack and see how you like it_!" she snapped.

Lucifer looked at her in shock, and Sam was sure he saw his lip tremble, before the devil slouched his shoulders and disappeared.

"_There. That's better_." She said, and turned her kindly face back to her son.

"Thanks mom." He said with relief, and she stroked his hair behind his ear tenderly.

"_You always had long hair. I knew you would keep growing it, I knew you liked to annoy your father_." She said fondly.

"So what are you doing here?" Sam asked.

"_You needed help, a bit of guidance. Dean_." She said, and her tone wasn't angry, just disappointed.

"Yeah..." he admitted.

"_Sam. Firstly, you shouldn't listen to Lucifer. He's a horrid little shit who gets his jollies making other people miserable. Dean doesn't hate you honey. You're all he has left. He died for you, started an Apocalypse for you. Believe me, he doesn't hate you. Nor does he blame you for everything that goes wrong. It's more a case of blaming himself_." She said, and Sam looked away from her.

"I know that mom. But he won't let me help, and now..."

"_Dean made a horrible, drunken mistake darling. And I saw it all. Suffice to say, I've rarely been so disappointed in him. When he abandoned you after you found out you were Lucifer's vessel. Actually wanting to say 'yes' to Michael. And now. I know nothing excuses what he did Sam, and nor should it. But, Dean didn't mean to hurt you. He would never hurt you the way he did last night, not willingly, not if he was himself. The person he was trying to hurt was himself, but he just couldn't. But, his anger and everything else exploded, along with the booze, and you were the only thing there he could hurt. Believe me, no one in the world feels worse than he does right now. He thinks hes lower than a snake's testicle._"

Sam smiled a little, and she looked at him searchingly.

"_What you said to him earlier? Did you mean it?_"

"The stuff I said to hurt him, no, of course not. He screwed up. Yeah, he hurt me a lot, but I know he didn't really mean to do that. I know now he wouldn't really want to kill me. But the stuff I said still stands, he has to let me help him, or at the very least help himself, or..."

"_So you still want him around_?" she asked, and he nodded.

"Of course I do. He's my big brother, even if he is a jackass." He said, and she winked at him.

"_He needs you as much as you need him. And I know that if anyone can get past all this, its you two. Don't give up on your brother Sam. You can fix him, you just need to have faith in him, like he had faith in you_." She said gently, and he smiled.

"I always knew that mom. I wasn't giving up on him, I just couldn't be around him for a while, considering what he did. I was hurt, angry, upset, and Lucifer was making me think he wanted to do it, I was a little crazy too, more so than usual. But I would never give up on him." He said, and she smiled, and kissed his forehead.

"_That's my boy_." She said, and just like that she was gone.

Sam smiled. He knew that now. Dean would never mean any of the stuff he had said last night. And he also knew that Dean would never want him dead, no matter what Lucifer said. And he knew for a fact that Dean didn't hate him. Like Mary had said, you didn't go through everything they had without having a very deep bond. He pressed the call button, and a second later Dr Cox stuck his head round the door.

"Ah Sam, you're awake again. What can I get you?" he asked.

"Could you phone my brother please? I want to talk to him." He said, and Cox nodded before vanishing.

Sam took a deep breath. A lot had happened over the last day or so. But, like their mom had said, if anyone could fix it, they could. But it wasn't going to be easy. So, Sam steeled himself for a wait, and hoped that Dean wouldn't let him down.

**The penultimate chapter!**

**A lot of soul searching here, along with a visit from a few old friends. Don't worry, Ellen has still to make an appearance, she'll show up next chapter. I'm not so happy with this chapter as I was with the others, I can't figure out why. But I did enjoy Mary putting Lucifer in his place, I really liked it when he was described as nothing more than a spoiled brat in one of the episodes, I just cant remember which one it was.  
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**And apologies to Dean fans but there are a few subtle digs at him in this chapter, he has been irritating me this season, for reasons discussed in chapter. But hopefully that will change with season eight.  
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**Anyway, as always thank you for the lovely reviews (well done to babyreaper, who figured out Dillimore was from Grand Theft Auto), and I will hopefully finish this story tomorrow as we go through the aftermath of everything, and that'll be us.  
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**But until then, please review!  
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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural**

The Demon Drink

Dean had done a lot of hard things in his life. A lot of them had involved Sam too. But this was different somehow. This time, he had to go to his brother, who had apparently asked to see him, and try to convince him to give him another chance.

After all, why should he? While Dean had always taken him back, he could hardly blame Sam for thinking that Dean had only done it because he had to. What sort of brother told his little brother that he didn't want to see him when he learned that the devil was gunning for him personally? What sort of brother threw away the most important gift they had ever received just because some of his brother's select memories didn't involve him? Dean had done a lot over the years. For a long time he had told himself that he was in the right. Maybe Sam was right. He did have impossibly high standards, standards no one else could meet.

'What's dead should stay dead'. Yet it was Dean who had broken that, done a crossroads deal to resurrect Sam after Cold Oak. It was him who had demanded that Michael resurrect Sam after he was killed in the past. It was him who had asked Death himself to give Sam his soul back.

'Don't lie to me'. Sam had done a lot of lying to Dean over the years, but he had always believed he had been doing the right thing. And Dean got pissy about it all the time, while he was lying to Sam, about Hell, about Amy, and about a whole host of other things. So, he was basically saying he could lie but Sam and everyone else couldn't.

'You've got to tell me when something's wrong'. That was a good one. Dean kept everything bottled up inside, until it came out in one explosive eruption and nearly killed the best thing in his life.

Dean sighed as he pulled into the parking lot. He had always made Sam feel like he was the one who should struggle to meet his expectations, match up to his standards, do things his way or no way at all. And look where that had gotten them. More than once it had nearly destroyed their bond as brothers, and this time it had nearly destroyed his brother. Dean had been so full of self righteousness, self pity and self loathing that he hadn't seen just how much Sam had tried to live up to Dean, tried to be like his big brother. Fact of the matter was, Sam was a lot different, and while he had screwed up, he had done so much that Dean was proud of. He was a better man than he could ever be. The reality was, Dean should have been looking up to Sam (and not just literally). Dean had continually screwed Sam over in their relationship, never letting him grow up. He had never wanted to admit that his baby brother wasn't a baby anymore. But the proof was there, and he had nearly lost Sam because he didn't realise how good he had had things before it was nearly too late.

Yeah, they had lost their mom when they were both very young. They had lost their dad, who gave his life to save Dean, and to get one up on Azazel. Dean supposed that a lot of guilt had come from that. His dad had died to save him, to make sure he could do what he couldn't. But the old man had made a mistake. He had actually assumed that Dean was as obsessed with screwing over the demons as he was, that he would kill Sam. That would never have happened, until now anyway. He had lost Sam, and within seconds, he had realised that he couldn't live without him, no matter what it took. So he made the deal, the deal that would leave Sam all alone and vulnerable to Ruby's manipulations, the deal that would lead him to break the first seal and kick off the entire Apocalypse process. They had lost Ellen and Jo, two people they had come to view as family, two people who had lost someone they loved because of his father, and when they had died, he had felt guilty for that too. They had lost Rufus, because Dean had let his temper get the better of him and the entire situation had spiralled out of control from there, because he hadn't trusted his instincts that Sam was fine as he should have done. They had lost Castiel, because Dean hadn't wanted to admit that his friend was going dark, hadn't wanted to admit that someone he had once chosen over Sam would betray them, and then had been immobilised because Cas had hurt the one person who it would devastate Dean to see hurt the most. And then they had lost Bobby, because Cas had set loose the Leviathans, and once more Dean had acted like he was the only one who was affected by the loss even though Sam was hurting too, once more shutting his brother out when all he wanted to do was help.

But despite all their losses, one thing had been a constant in Dean's life. Sam. His little brother, there to help Dean when he needed it, always willing and wanting to help his brother, despite all the times he had been pushed away. Sam had died, and he had still come back to Dean. Dean had died, and he had still found Sam waiting for him. They had started the Apocalypse together, and the two of them had worked together, as they always did, in order to fix the mess and give the proverbial 'up yours' to the angels. Sam had been trapped in Lucifer's cage, and had come back, soulless, but he had come back, once more, to find Dean. Sam had had his soul restored, and the first thing he had done was go on a hunt with Dean. Dean had been so busy lamenting everything crappy in his life, he had totally overlooked what made his life worth living. His baby brother.

Dean entered the hospital, his heart hammering. How the hell did they go about this? This wasn't the effect of anything demonic, wasn't something harebrained that had gone wrong, no one had possessed Dean, no one had forced him to hurt him. Dean had simply let his own hatred and rage take over, and he had vented it towards his brother, and had nearly lost him. To think, Dean had once assumed the moral high ground over Sam with the demon blood. His own addiction was just as bad. In fact, the only time Sam had actually hurt Dean when taking the blood was when he had tried to stop him killing Lilith. For the last few years, Dean had been using Sam more and more as a punching bag, usually for trivial reasons. He had been lashing out, and his brother had been trying to help, but he had still not made any progress and now it had nearly cost him his life.

So where did they go from here? Dean pondered this thought as he approached Sam's room. What if Sam had called him to tell him that he never wanted to see him again? Dean had done that to Sam a couple of times and had immediately regretted saying it. But it had hurt him to say it, so how would it feel if this time it was directed at him? How could he even begin to move on from this? Would Sam flinch every time Dean raised a hand, raised his voice? Would Sam look at him with mistrust, with fear? He knew full well he wouldn't be able to cope if his brother didn't trust him. Sam had learned to cloak himself in armour of fire when Dean hadn't trusted him, that was what made things so bad between them when they were hunting Lilith. Dean was an armour of ice, and eventually it would shatter if that was the case. He knew neither of them could never forget what had happened. There was also little chance Sam would forgive him. After all, Dean had never neglected to throw everything Sam had ever done wrong back at him, why should Sam not do the same to him? Dean's courage was failing. Yeah, he felt a lot better than he had, to be honest, in years. And that was without Sam. Could he really win back his brother, make his life worth living? Dean found his hand straying to his pocket, to find Bobby's hip flask, and cursed as he remembered he had emptied it. Dutch courage again.

Dean swore at himself, earning him a reproving look from the nurse on duty. Was this really what he was like? Drinking whisky like it was water, as soon as things went bad, he was reaching for the drink? Why the hell had Sam put up with him? It had been ages since Dean had acted as his big brother. Instead, he had been acting like an angry drunk, pushing Sam away every time he needed him or wanted to help him, hurting him in so many ways that it wasn't real. All those years ago, when he had taken Sam from Stanford, he had only really hurt Sam when Sam was possessed or hurt. And while Sam had resented Dean for a while from taking him away from the life he had worked so hard to create for himself, he had eventually got back into the swing of things, enjoying nothing more than going on a hunt with his big brother, torching everything that got in their way or harmed them, back when their lives had been good, back when hunting had been fun, and they didn't have to worry about angels, Apocalypses, Eve or Leviathans. Back when they were two invincible brothers, who could take on anything and anyone and always relax with a film and a couple of beers after a job well done at the end of the day. What had happened to that?

Everything Dean had said to Sam, that wasn't what he really felt. It wasn't Sam's fault they were targeted by angels and demons. It wasn't Sam's fault that they had lost people they cared about. And it wasn't Sam's fault that Dean thought his life sucked. It was Dean's. But now, he realised that his life in fact didn't suck. Well, sometimes it did, in places, but so did everyone else's. Someone could have a crappy day, but they always picked themselves back up. Dean had made himself think that he was always having a crappy day, not realising that some days just spent hanging out with Sam were the best he could ever ask for.

And how could he try and take that away from himself? How could he let all his problems try and take away the best thing in his life? Dean had faced a choice in the motel room: booze or Sam. Then, the choice had seemed a no brainer. He would always choose his brother. But now, what did he do now? What would Sam's choice be? Him, or happiness? Now that he was actually here, did he stay and face the music, like a man, and see if he could salvage his relationship with his brother? Or did he run, and do what Jo had said, stick a bullet in his head and allow Sam to live the life he had always wanted? He couldn't face Sam, not knowing it was him who had done that to him, had hurt him like that. He would do what Sam wanted, stop drinking, but until he was sure he could look Sam in the eye again, he would give Sam the space he wanted. Sam deserved a better brother than he was, and until Dean was, he knew Sam would be just fine without him. Dean took one last look of farewell at the door to Sam's room, when suddenly the air went still, the entire corridor froze and the doors Dean was heading towards slammed shut.

"_If you take one more step in that direction Dean Winchester, I will kick your ass_." A peeved off voice said, and Dean gulped anxiously as Ellen materialised before him, looking seriously pissed off.

"Oh, hi Ellen, how ya doing?" he asked nervously, and she narrowed her eyes in irritation.

"Don't you 'hi' me when you were about to walk out and abandon your brother. You're in enough trouble as it is." She said grumpily.

"He deserves someone better than me. I've not been much of a brother recently, as I'm sure you'll agree." He said sadly, and she nodded.

"Damn straight I would. But while you haven't been much of a brother, that doesn't mean he doesn't want you to still be his brother. There's so many times I've wondered when he would get so fed up of you he would leave for good. God knows you've deserved it a lot over the last few years. They way you've treated him, I'm surprised he hasn't left you entirely. But you never gave up on him, despite how much you might have wanted to, and he hasn't given up on you. Not yet. But if you walk out that door without so much as a goodbye, even if you think you're doing it for the right reasons, you will lose him for good. He will give up on you, and you will never see him again. Do you really want that?" she asked sternly, and Dean shook his head.

"It's not as easy as that Ellen. I tried to kill him, because I was so full of hate and I didn't realise what I had. How the hell does he forgive me for doing that?"

"Because he's your brother you idiot. He's your family. Sometimes family screws up. You've done your fair share of it. So has he. But trust me when I tell you Dean, if you make this final mistake, if you walk away now, there will be no coming back from that. He will never forgive you and you will lose your brother for good. And I know you don't want that. No matter how crappy you feel, you know full well that Sam is the reason you're still here, still going. And if you're willing to throw that all away, just to avoid having to confront your failures and what you've done wrong, then you may as well get your gun and shoot yourself, because without Sam honey, you're only half of yourself." She said kindly, and he grinned a little.

"You implying that I'm being a coward?" he asked, and she smiled.

"Yeah. And a self righteous, opinionated ass with a 'woe is me' complex that makes me wanna throttle you. But you can fix that Dean. And all it will take is turning round and facing the music. Your brother still wants you. Still needs you. The kid has Lucifer talking to him all day and night, he's lost virtually all he cares about, and he's been steadily losing the person who matters the most to him, the one who keeps him grounded, who keeps him being him. And trust me Dean, you don't want to lose that. I know you don't. He's made mistakes before too Dean. Not quite so severe as trying to kill you without help from something we hunt, but he has screwed up too. And if anyone can understand what you're dealing with, it's him. He needs you as much as you need him. So don't you dare run off just because you can't cope with change, or what you've become. Go back to being the kid who strolled into my roadhouse all those years ago, ridiculously protective of his brother, a smart ass hunter with a score to settle, and not a care in the world other than his car and his brother. Because that kid is still in there Dean, you just forgot him. You let him get buried under all the crap you've been through, and I don't blame you for that sweetie. But you gotta stop doing that, before you both get lost. I'm not saying your life hasn't sucked, because it has. But there's some good stuff in it too Dean, and it's time you remember that, that's what you forgot." She said, and Dean gave her a genuine smile, like the smart ass, cocky smiles he used to wear when he and Sam had done something harebrained that had sent her and Bobby's blood pressure through the roof.

"Thanks Ellen. I miss you." He said, and she smiled.

"_And I miss you too kid. Come here._" She said, and wrapped him in a hug.

She then cuffed him on the side of the head.

"Ow! What was that for?" he demanded angrily, and she smiled.

"That was a reminder to do the right thing. And this," she said, cuffing his other ear, "is a warning not to do that to your brother again. You lay a hand on him like that again, I'll kick your ass from here to next millennia. Got it?" she demanded and he nodded reluctantly.

"Yes ma'am."

"Good boy. Now, get in there and make nice with your brother. And don't either of you dare go and get yourself killed, or I'll kick you both in the ass." She said warningly, and vanished, allowing the hospital to return to normal, and it immediately began bustling once again.

Dean took a deep breath. Yeah, he couldn't be a coward, and go straight for the drink just because he was feeling crappy about his life or because he'd had a bad day and couldn't face up to what was really wrong. It was time he started acting like Sam's brother again. It was time he stopped drinking and started earning his brother back. So, Dean took a deep breath, knocked on Sam's door and entered.

XX

"Hi." Dean said softly, and Sam looked over at his brother as he lingered awkwardly in the doorway.

It was a strange feeling, looking at his brother, knowing what he had done to him. While he was still angry, and upset with his brother, he was also relieved to see him. After what he had said to him yesterday, a small part of him had feared he would never see his brother again, which he didn't want, not at all. And while part of him was relieved, another part of him was incredibly happy to see his big brother. Ah well. Winchesters were weird like that.

"Hey." Sam responded, his tone neutral, and Dean took that as leave to creep forward, and he sat on a chair at the bottom of the bed, not saying anything, just looking at his brother.

"Dean?" Sam asked after a minute.

"Yeah?"

"You can come closer if you want. I can't see you down there, I'm at the wrong angle, and I'm not going to bite." He said, trying not to roll his eyes.

He was rewarded with his patience a minute later, as after much internal deliberation, Dean pulled the chair to Sam's left hand side and sat, just out of where he could reach his brother, so as not to frighten him if he moved his hands in any way.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked, looking for any signs of improvement in his brother.

Sam pondered that. How was he feeling? Dr Cox said he was doing well, and that the marks on his neck were going down, and some of the cuts were already beginning to heal. And he had his brother, when he had been afraid that his brother might take him at his word and never see him again, or worse, do something completely stupid and irreversible.

"I don't know. Everything's getting better, my bruises are going down. And I actually feel a lot better. Lucifer hasn't been here all day." He said, and Dean looked at him curiously.

"Why not? I take it he was here yesterday, when you were about to, you know, cut yourself?" Dean asked softly, and rather than the anger he expected to hear in his voice, Sam heard a little bit of fear and sadness.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I know that you wouldn't want me to kill myself. I was confused, messed up, you had, well you know, and Lucifer was saying that all the stuff you had said the other night was true, and I don't know, I started to believe it, I didn't know what to make of it. Dean...you, you didn't mean it did you?" he asked in almost a whisper, and Dean once more felt the urge to be sick, knowing how much even his words had hurt his brother.

"Of course I didn't. It wasn't you I had the problem with, it was me. I let everything bad in my life drown out all the good, and you were there as usual, trying to help, trying to be sympathetic, and I don't know, I probably thought I didn't deserve it, and snapped. You were being you, and I don't know, call it jealousy, displaced anger, whatever, it all came to the fore, and combined with everything I'd drunk, and the fact that I'm usually cruel to you when I've been drinking anyway...I just remembered everything bad in my life, I couldn't see anything good, and it was me I was angry at, and rather than take it out on myself, I took it out on you. Sam, I know you didn't have anything to do with any of the stuff I said. It's not your fault that our lives got fucked up, it's not your fault people we care about die. And most importantly, Sam, I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I hate myself, even more than usual considering what I did to you, but not you. Ok? You gotta believe me in that if nothing else. Everything that sucks in our lives isn't your fault. And some of it isn't mine either." He admitted quietly, and Sam looked at him, and for a single moment, Dean thought he saw Sam's mouth twitch towards a smile.

"I always worried that beneath it all you did hate me, that you only kept me around because of mom and dad, not because of me. I know it was stupid, but after everything, I was scared that you actually didn't want me as your brother, that you did think I was cursed, poison, everything you hate. Lucifer just made it worse. I knew you wouldn't really mean all those things, just like other things you say when you're drunk. But he twisted me around, made me believe you wanted to kill me, that you enjoyed it, that you wanted me dead, gone, and it got to me. I'm sorry." He said, sounding miserable, and Dean pulled his chair a little closer to the bed.

"Is he here?" Dean asked, and Sam actually did smile, and Dean had to stop a smile of his own. Wouldn't do to make his brother think he was drunk or insane when he was trying to make things up with him.

"Actually no. I got a visit last night. From mom. I don't know what she was, a dream, a spirit, I've got no idea. But she showed up, told Lucifer to back off, told him exactly what she thought of him, and he disappeared in a strop." He said with a grin, and Dean had to smile too.

"So you got a visit from mom huh? I was visited by Jo. And Ellen earlier too. She threatened to kick my ass into the next millennium if I ever do something like this to you again."

"And?" Sam asked, personal and professional interest overriding all else.

"And they seem happy, well they aren't particularly happy with me, but...they talked to me, and things they said actually made sense. They told me just what I was missing out on. I was so focused on all the bad, I missed out on the good. I missed out on you, the thing that keeps me sane. And because I was so consumed by anger and bitterness, while drinking my weight in whisky and vodka and everything else I could get my hands on every night, I didn't realise just how lousy a brother I'd been even before I tried to kill you. Drinking myself into a stupor every night, when all you wanted to do was help, I wasn't helping either of us."

"Dean..." Sam protested in a whining voice, and Dean smiled.

"Sam. I'm your big brother. It's my job to look after you. And I know you're all grown up, and a hell of a better guy than I am, not better looking though, but it's my nature to look after you. Problem is, recently I've been doing a crappy job of it, and I've been letting my anger dictate everything I did, my hurt. The last thing I did as your big brother was give you your soul back, and before that, I don't even know what it was, it was like your big brother was in hibernation. Remember when I hit you because you didn't like Gordon? I felt so guilty about that, for weeks. When I hit you because you'd upped and left me, I didn't feel anything. I was just getting angrier and angrier, and for years you've been the only person I can take it out on, even though you didn't deserve it. I hated everything about our lives Sam, but never about you. I've been pushing you away, hurting you, all these years, and I realise now just how much I missed you, even though you were there all along, waiting for me to get my act in gear and start being me again. I'm so sorry." Dean said hoarsely.

Sam looked at his big brother, someone who he could truly call his big brother again, and smiled.

"I was content to be your punching bag Dean, if that's what it took, but it didn't work. You only got angrier every time you hit me, not better." He lamented, and Dean looked at his shoes in shame.

"Because I hated myself. Remember that day dad hit you because you snuck out to see a film? I promised myself I would never become like that. Fact was I became worse. And every time I hurt you, because I was angry, because I was drunk, it was a step closer to becoming dad, which I knew full well would probably make me lose you anyway. I got angry with myself, and every time I took it out on you, I got angrier with myself because I hurt you." He explained, and Sam moved his good hand a little closer to the edge of the bed,

"Why didn't you just talk to me?" Sam asked, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Remember, I'm the big, macho, insensitive pig, who has stupid rules and high standards no one else meets, you're the sweet, caring, innocent, not as good looking one." He said with a slight smile, and brought his chair a little closer.

"Dean, what I said about your standards..." Sam said, but Dean shook his head.

"No Sam. You were right. I deserved everything you gave me, and more. And as soon as you're better, I will let you kick my ass as much as you want for what I've done to you. And I don't just mean for this." He said, pointing at Sam's beat up body.

But Dean didn't fail to notice that Sam didn't flinch when he raised his hand, and this heartened him.

"We've both screwed up a lot over the years Dean." Sam reminded him, and Dean shrugged.

"I know we have. But nothing quite like this. Sam, please know, I never, ever meant to hurt you like this. If I'd been in the my right mind, if I'd been your brother rather than a bitter drunk, if I hadn't been taking all the blame and guilt onto myself, and thinking how crappy our lives were at times, I would never _ever _have hurt you the way I have now. You understand that, right?" he asked pleadingly, and Sam nodded.

"Of course I do Dean. You always forgave me after I tried to kill you after all." He said, with a whimsical smile.

"Yeah, but usually there were extenuating circumstances, like demons." Dean reminded him, and Sam shrugged, and immediately regretted it, because it hurt his ribs.

"Well so was this. Just a case of inner demons though." He said fairly, and Dean smiled. That was his baby brother. He was a better man than he was. There were times that he really hated it when Jo was right.

"Thanks Sam. I really am sorry for trying to kill you." Dean said, knowing sorry was a little feeble in this instance but it was the best he had.

Sam thought about the attack, and shrugged.

"Yeah, you did try to kill me. And despite what I usually say, I think I will take you up on your offer to kick your ass when I get out of here, I can't let this one slide. But, when you did, you stopped." He said, and Dean looked at him curiously.

"What do you mean?" he asked, moving his hand down to his knee, plucking up his courage to try and move it to the bed and hope his brother wouldn't move his hand, or flinch.

"When you were strangling me. Dr Cox told me that if my attacker had held on even a couple of seconds longer, I would have died. But you didn't. You let go just in time, there was still life in me when they found me. You could have actually killed me, but you didn't." He pointed out, and Dean thought about that.

"You reckon your big brother was there somewhere?" Dean asked with a small smile, and Sam nodded.

"Yeah. Somewhere. Thanks for not finishing me though. That would have sucked for both of us." He said, and Dean snorted in amusement.

"No kidding." He said, before placing his hand over Sam's, and it virtually made his day when Sam didn't move it from under his.

They sat there silently for a few minutes, Sam testing everything he could. His brother was back. Dean had been there, but his brother Dean hadn't. And now, he could very well get him back. Dean looked at his brother and smiled. Sam still wanted him around. In his place, Dean probably would have told Sam he never wanted to see him again. Thank god Sam was the nicer one of the two of them.

"Sam?" Dean asked, wanting to make absolutely sure.

"Yeah?"

"Can I be your big brother again?" he asked, and Sam smiled.

"You mean can you be my overbearing, overprotective, smart ass jerk of a big brother? What do you think I've been wanting? Dad junior? Of course I want my big brother back. But that doesn't meant that when I'm better I'm not going to kick your ass for doing this to me in the first place." He said, and Dean could almost feel his heart repairing, and the black cloud over him dispersing, despite the impending ass kicking from his brother, which he knew full well that he deserved and more.

"Thanks Sam." He said fondly, respecting his wishes not to be called Sammy.

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. He was going to regret this, he knew he was, but he couldn't leave it there.

"Mey." He said, and Dean looked at him curiously.

"Huh?"

"Sammy. If you're going to be my pain in the ass big brother again, you may as well call me Sammy. It wouldn't be right if you didn't." He said, and Dean started to laugh, the most he had heard Dean laugh in a very long time, and it was an actual laugh, not forced, and there was an actual happy smile along with it.

"You, you, the person who has been telling me for the last eight years that it's 'Sam, not Sammy', have just given me leave to call you Sammy?" he demanded between giggles, and Sam rolled his eyes in amusement.

"Yeah I did. I know you are now going to make my life miserable, but what choice do I have?" he asked good naturedly, and Dean suddenly hugged him fiercely.

Sam returned the hug immediately, and then hissed in pain, and Dean pulled apart, looking sheepish.

"Sorry Sammy. I forgot about your ribs." He said guiltily.

"It's ok. Dean?" he asked softly, and Dean looked at his little brother, who was grinning.

"Yeah?"

"You're going to drive me crazy until I get out of here aren't you?" he asked and Dean nodded, smiling widely.

"Yeah. And probably after that too. I'll be fussing over you every step of the way." He promised, and Sam rolled his eyes in amusement.

"Thought so. I'm going to go crazy in here too." Sam lamented, and Dean couldn't bear to see the downfallen look on his brother's face.

"Don't worry, I'll come by every day and keep you company...if you want me to." He said nervously, and Sam nodded.

"Course. I need someone to talk to, even if it is my intellectually challenged brother." He teased, and Dean poked him in the side.

"I'm trying to be nice here. And I'll bring you books, I might even read Harry Potter while you're stuck in here..." he said, and Sam snorted in amusement.

"Hey, I can read!" Dean protested, rightly guessing what the snort was about.

"There's no pictures you know." Sam warned, and Dean assumed his own bitchy face, making Sam snigger.

"And I'll bring you cake too, you filthy heathen." Dean said, and Sam's eyes lit up, he had always preferred cake to pie, no wonder he was insane.

"Thanks."

They once more sat in companionable silence, until Dean became aware of the puppy dog look that Sam was giving him, and this time it worked, and he didn't need to ask to interpret what his brother wanted. Smiling to himself, he sat on the bed beside Sam, and slowly started to brush his hair with his fingers, like he always had when he was ill or wounded, and to his great relief Sam didn't protest any of it. Sam started to relax with his brother watching him, and soon he was getting groggy.

"I'm not saying you can't drink any more. Just, not so much." He mumbled, and Dean smiled.

"Thank god for that. Here, you keep this for a while." He said, and took Bobby's flask from his pocket and passed it to Sam, who looked at him curiously.

"I emptied it last night when I was drinking the water. And besides, you could do with sprucing this room up a bit. It'll remind you of Bobby." Dean said, not revealing that he was just removing another source of temptation.

Sam knew though. And that was how he surprised Dean a moment later.

"You don't need to you know. I trust you." He said quietly, and those words filled Dean with such relief and joy it was a wonder his face didn't break with the smile he had.

"Thanks Sammy." He said, watching as his brother drifted to sleep, still brushing his hair.

His little brother. The good thing in his life he kept going for. And even though it had been Dean who had hurt him, had nearly killed him, he knew they were going to be alright

_I love you Sammy_, Dean thought, and would never say it out loud.

After all, the entire visit had been one massive chick flick moment, more so than anything else over the years. The mother of all chick flick moments. Not that he minded, but he also wouldn't admit that either. He smiled to himself, and helped himself to Sam's water jug, as his brother slept soundly beside him.

_I love you too Dean_, Sam thought as he began to dream.

XX

Three weeks later, Sam was finally let out of hospital. His ribs and wrist were mostly healed, and he could now handle their maintenance himself. The scratches had all but gone from his face, and the bruises had followed suit. His sprain was healed, and the bruises on his neck had long faded.

The two of them had spent virtually the entire three weeks together, relaxing, watching TV, Sam educating Dean on the finer points of Harry Potter (becoming convinced his big brother had a bit of a crush on Professor McGonagall in the process), having good natured arguments, and just being brothers again. Dean had hardly left Sam's side, and had only gone to the motel to sleep. He had also not had an alcoholic drink in three weeks. True, he was now addicted to banana milkshakes, but Sam could handle that. Besides, Dean had brought him a chocolate one and had to admit that they were damn good.

They were fully packed into their little Ford Anglia and headed for the outskirts of town, Dean singing Led Zeppelin to himself, while Sam busied himself in a self defence book that Dean (the smartass) had bought for him.

"There might be a case in Wichita, Kansas." Sam mentioned as Dean took the car to the highway.

"Yeah, I saw your papers. Something to do with Plucky the clown. Sure it's your gig?" Dean asked in a teasing voice.

Sam glowered at him.

"I'll do it if that's what you mean. Just...keep me away from the clowns." He said uncertainly, and Dean laughed.

"It isn't funny Dean! They scare me!" Sam moaned, and he laughed more, and Sam gave in and started too.

"Don't worry Sammy, I won't let them hurt you." He assured him, half teasing, half serious.

"Thank you." Sam said sarcastically, though he did smile.

"Bitch." Dean said, unable to help himself.

"Jerk." Sam said happily, and he knew that at long last, the two of them were going to be alright.

In the back seat, invisible to the boys, Bobby, presently a ghost bound to the now milkshake filled hip flask, rolled his eyes in exasperation, though even he couldn't stop the smile that appeared on his face.

"_Edjits_."

**The end!**

**Well I thoroughly enjoyed writing that story, so much so that I've started another one and will upload it momentarily.  
**

**So all's well that ends well. Dean has said he will be Sam's big brother again, and everything is back to normal for our two boys. And poor Bobby is stuck in the backseat with the pair of them, shame.  
**

**I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it, I've never finished a story so fast before. Thank you so much for all the kind reviews, and long may they continue, and i hope to see you all in the next story!  
**

**Thanks again for everything, and as always, please review, I thoroughly enjoy seeing big numbers in my inbox every morning!  
**


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